


Mettle and Flame

by WyldMagic



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Adaptation, Asexual Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Found Family, Gen, Major Character Injury, Novelization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 58
Words: 186,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22467517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WyldMagic/pseuds/WyldMagic
Summary: A sword wields no strength unless the hand that holds it has courage.----------A loose novelization of Path of Radiance. Rated T for violence and mild language.Current game chapter: between 14-15
Relationships: Ike & Senerio | Soren, Ike/Senerio | Soren
Comments: 139
Kudos: 148





	1. PART ONE- METTLE - Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6/29 a few notes:  
> \- i hc both ike and soren as ace, hence the ace relationship tag-- still romantic, but no sexual content  
> \- this isn't a direct cut & paste of game script and scenes; i take liberties and embellish the story  
> \- fic is gonna get into anxiety, depression, and other mental health stuff. if you need me to tag anything for the actual fic tags please let me know!  
> thanks for reading!

Ike was a boy hewn from two mettles: the selflessness of love, and the selfishness to want change.

Every morning, he’d wake after dawn to find the fort mostly empty and only his younger sister and whoever else had stayed home that day for company. He’d follow the same routine—while his father was out leading the mercenary troupe, Ike would practice his swordsmanship in the yard, hitting bales of hay with a wooden blade and pretending they were soldiers. Soren would sit under a tree and read a book, and, elsewhere in the field, Mist would gather wildflowers or dried grasses if the weather was nice. Depending on who was home, Titania would take them into town for supplies, or Oscar would bring Ike and Mist to the kitchen to help prepare meals. Day in, day out, spring to summer to fall and back around, Crimea’s peace and idyllic countryside was the backdrop to Ike’s early teenage years.

It wasn’t a particularly _interesting_ life, but it kept him out of trouble.

Still, every night when Ike would eat his meals with the rest of Greil’s Mercenaries, the feeling of being left out nagged at him like a scab that wouldn’t heal. Even the most subdued mission sounded like a grand tale of adventure to him.

“And then, Shinon pops out of the trees like—wha- _pow!_ ” Gatrie exclaimed, gesturing so widely he knocked a cup of water to the stone floor. “And the guy fell over with an arrow sticking straight out of his collarbone!

“You’re telling it wrong,” Shinon said. His auburn hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail, his eyes were sharp, and his tongue was full of acid. “It wasn’t the collarbone, it was the jugular vein, and it wasn’t a _pow_ , it was a _thwip_. Get your sound effects right.”

“Would you look at that, Shinon actually cares about his reputation!” Boyd said, chuckling around a bite of food.

Shinon scowled at him. Gatrie leaned over and elbowed Shinon in the ribs, flashing him a bright white smile, but Shinon slapped his hand away.

“Don’t you give me that,” he snapped. “I had to save _your_ sorry ass from spending half our pay in the face of that floozy—”

“Language,” Greil rumbled from the end of the table.

Shinon rolled his eyes, but he amended the rest of his and Gatrie’s mission with minimal swearing. After them, Titania, her braid loose and red tresses spilling over her shoulders, described her ordeal quelling bandits the way one would report a missing library book. Oscar let his younger brother Boyd over-embellish their day’s work, peppered with questions from Rolf, until the three of them had broken into their own familial conversation that usually ended with Rolf leaving the dinner table early to go play board games with Mist. Rhys would sometimes be there and sometimes not—his health always fluctuated with the seasons—but he would usually sit next to Mist and make grass braids from whatever she’d picked from the fields.

One long table, two long benches, one meal shared and two lives led. It had been that way for as long as Ike could remember them living in the fort. Ike would sit and listen to their tales, and no matter how much food he ate there was still a space between his ribs that refused to fill.

“I want to be a mercenary, too,” he’d whispered to Soren, sitting next to him at the end of the bench.

Soren shook his head slightly, the motion hardly enough for anyone but Ike to notice. His eyes were distant and stormy, a crease in his brow the only other tell that he was deep in thought.

“No, you don’t,” he said quietly. “It is not a life that would suit you.”

Ike would grumble about it and sigh, finish his plate, and then retire for the evening with that hollow feeling of _belonging_ gnawing at his chest. But his father was the Commander. The Commander said Ike was too green.

And Greil’s word was law.

\---

Darkness fell like a shroud around the Daein keep. Night came later now that spring was finally approaching, but the keep was an empire of stone and mortar, and the King was its denizen with a heart black as the sky.

Ashnard didn’t mind. He liked the dark.

His footsteps fell on the thick stone steps as he descended from his chamber to the throne room. He hadn’t bothered to light any torches—he knew his keep and could walk it blind, all the better to trick attackers and make weaklings go mad in the dark. Even the soldier’s he’d stationed at this hour were trained to keep their mouths shut and seal their personal demons away.

Ashnard passed one of them standing at attention at the foot of the stairs. He waved a hand in front of the man’s face, smiling, and moved on when he received no response.

The throne room was a cathedral of a space lined with narrow windows and iron bars that looked out over Nevassa and its silent sleep. Ashnard ran a hand along the windowsill. Even the moon had hidden its face tonight; the clouds that covered the sky made the keep feel more like a tomb. Tiny pinpricks of torchlight in the slums outside were quickly snuffed, as if they, too, could sense their king watching.

Ashnard turned away from the windows. The vermin were not his priority.

The shadows behind his throne began to move. Ashnard did not need the light to know his pet was awake, as restless as he was, the sound of its thick chains scraping over the stone floor like nails on slate. Ashnard approached the shadow until he could feel its hot breath against his face and see the glimmer of crimson eyes peeking out from behind black scales.

“Soon, my pet,” Ashnard crooned, stroking the dragon’s face. “Soon we will have our fun…”

And in the darkness of Daein keep, in the blackest heart of the wickedest man, a match was struck, and a flame began to burn.


	2. Chapter 2

Ike woke past dawn with a sore back and the traces of sleep still dragging at his eyes. He dressed quickly and grimaced every time he saw a fresh bruise on his skin—Father had not been easy on him during training yesterday, nor had Boyd. Ike had insisted at the time that he didn’t need anything from Rhys for the pain, but after a long sleep and fresh aches he was starting to regret that decision. The back of his head faintly throbbed where Father had caught him with the flat side of a sword.

 _I better not have a concussion,_ Ike thought as he made his way down to the fort’s main level. Spring had finally come to Crimea, and while the nights still dipped into frost, there was finally enough sunlight streaming through the square windows to warm the hallways by the time Ike was awake. He caught a glimpse of the fields outside as he entered the kitchen; the grasses were tan and dry, but soon enough there’d be waves of green rolling across the meadow, and those bare trees at the edge of the field would fan their leaves in earnest.

Mist was sitting at the small square table in the kitchen that they used only for family meals, her head propped on her hands, staring out the window at the treeline. Her tawny hair was pulled back into half a ponytail, leaving the rest to fall around her shoulders. She perked up when she caught sight of Ike and leapt up from her chair with a sunny grin.

“Good morning, brother!” she said.

“Hey, Mist,” Ike said, smiling. He ruffled his sister’s hair affectionately as he sidestepped her to grab a roll and jam from the counter. Mist stuck her tongue out at him and tried to return the favor, but she was too short—Ike stood up on his tip-toes just to make her jump.

“It’s not fair!” Mist said. “How come you’re so tall and I’m still so short I can’t reach the top cabinets?”

“Because _I’m_ the older sibling, and _I’m_ having a growth spurt,” Ike said, taking a bite of the roll.

“You certainly eat enough for that,” Mist grumbled. Even though she said it with a frown, her eyes were smiling, and Ike tried not to choke on breadcrumbs when he laughed.

Ike took a seat across from her at the table, finishing one roll and swiping a second when his sister wasn’t looking. The crust was dusted with flour, and the jam was filled with seeds that crunched against Ike’s teeth as he tried to grind them up.

“Who else is home?” he asked.

“Just us, Rhys, and Rolf,” Mist said, propping her chin onto one hand. “Everyone else is out doing something—even Father, but he said he’d be back pretty soon. I’m so bored, Ike! It’s so muddy outside I can’t even go for a walk or take one of the horses out.”

Ike hummed sympathetically. The rain had come in hard last night, and even if it was sunny today the ground was slick and ill-conducive to outdoor activity.

“It’ll clear up,” he said. “Besides, all the rain means there’ll be plenty of flowers for you to gather when the fields grow back.”

“I guess…”

There was a sudden heavy noise and a grunt by the door; a few moments later, Greil emerged knocking mud from his boots, his ochre cape sporting a hem of dirt. Ike and Mist’s father was a broad-shouldered man with a strong jaw and strict bearing; even without the hatchet slung at his hip, he commanded a room with presence alone and could silence a comment before it could even be thought. His eyes were stone-colored and strong, and an old scar brushed across his left temple. He belatedly noticed his children sitting at the table and gave them a kind smile.

“Good morning, Father!” Mist said.

“Morning, Father,” Ike echoed a beat later.

“Good morning, you two,” Greil said. He hung his cloak on a peg beside the door and knocked the last of the mud from his boots, coming into the kitchen proper to greet his children. He let Mist run up and hug him around the waist, but Ike stayed where he was, standing awkwardly to the side of the table. Greil patted him on the shoulder.

“The north road is going to be slow for a few hours,” Greil said. “A wolf spooked two horses pulling a group of civilians; the carriage overturned, and even though no one was killed and I helped get them on the move again, there’s a fair bit of new tracks bogging down that part of the road. If anyone needs to reach Thalea today they’d be hard-pressed to make it in a timely manner.”

“Does that mean you’re home for the rest of the day?” Mist asked.

Greil shook his head. “I need to meet Oscar down near the tributary; apparently some lumberworker cut down a tree and is blocking the water from reaching a mill.” He sighed, cracking his neck. “It’s like everyone in a ten-mile radius seems to be catching spring fever and making foolhardy decisions…”

“Can I help?” Ike said. “As part of the mercenary company?”

Greil opened his mouth to reply, but Ike interrupted before his father could speak.

“Father, I bested both you _and_ Boyd during training yesterday. I know you were holding back, but I could tell, and I _still_ managed to knock you both down. That means my swordsmanship has improved enough to reach the company’s baseline.”

“That’s… true,” Greil admitted slowly. “You really think you’re up for it? It’s hard work. And I don’t make exceptions for my only son.”

“I’m tired of being a trainee,” Ike said. “I want to pull my weight the same as you and everyone else.”

Behind him, Mist blew out a faint raspberry between her lips, but Ike refused to turn around. He had his father’s full attention and wasn’t about to squander it on his sister’s antics. Not with so much riding on this decision.

Greil rubbed his stubbled chin. He looked his son over, his expression hard and unreadable. Ike gulped. His father was kind in ways and stern in all others; even without the added burden of authority, Ike always felt like he was being assessed. Still, he squared his shoulders, stood as tall as he could manage on flat feet, and met his father’s even gaze.

Greil was silent for a painfully long time.

“…Alright,” Greil said. “You start tomorrow morning.”

Ike had to stop a moment to let his father’s words sink in. For a moment, he forgot how to use his own tongue.

“Really?”

“What, don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts now,” Greil grumbled. “Not after two years of insisting after every mission I came home from that you were 'ready for mercenary work'.”

“Don’t forget the time he got Soren to write him a letter of recommendation,” Mist chimed in from the table. This time, Ike turned his head so his father couldn’t see his face and shot Mist a sulky look.

“I’ll inform Titania when she’s back from her job,” Greil continued. “I expect you to work hard and make no excuses, understand?”

“Of course, Father.”

Greil set his jaw. Ike immediately straightened and cleared his throat.

“I mean—yes, Commander.”

Greil nodded, and he finally smiled just lightly enough to soften his face. “Good. As I said, you start tomorrow, so take today and rest your body and your mind. I want you up and ready to fall in line with the rest of the company at dawn tomorrow.”

“Yes, Commander.”

 _Maybe I_ do _have a concussion,_ Ike thought dimly as he went about the rest of his day. It was too brisk to take Mist into town and too muddy to traipse through the forests for kindling, so Ike busied himself with whatever work he could get done at the fort before the rest of Greil’s company returned and got in his way. His body moved on its own subconscious rhythm while his mind raced around his skull. _Maybe Boyd really_ did _kick my tail, and this is all a fever dream I’m having. Maybe I caught whatever Rhys had that’s kept him in and out of the sick bay all week._

_Or, maybe Father is finally starting to respect me enough to let me work._

Ike smiled. He knew hubris was a dangerous thing, but for now, a little ember of pride sat firmly in his chest and warmed him from the core.

\---

Most of the company took the news well. Titania and Rhys made a point to congratulate Ike in private while they were washing dishes; Boyd crowed about how it was all thanks to his personal influence that Ike had made it as a rookie; Oscar and Rolf were quiet but supportive; even Gatrie clapped Ike between the shoulders with a gleaming smile on his face. Only Shinon was acerbic, but he left to drown himself in drink and was nowhere to be found for the rest of the night.

Ike took all of their praise in stride, but he kept searching among their company for a shadow he was unused to roaming without.

“He’ll be back soon,” Mist said that night when she and Ike were heading to bed. “Melior can’t keep Soren’s attention for _that_ long, even _if_ they have a million books at the castle.”

“I know,” Ike said. “I just wanted to tell him first.”

“His internship should be up by the end of spring. And hey, he’ll be so happy you’re part of the company now, he might even _smile_!”

Ike chuckled; Soren’s smiles were rare, fleeting things that Ike had never seen manifest outside of libraries and closed rooms. He’d wanted to tell his friend the moment Greil had said yes, but unless Ike wanted to use one of their limited passenger pigeons to ferry a message to the capitol, it would have to wait.

 _I’ll keep it a surprise,_ Ike thought.

Mist wished him good luck for the morning and retired to her bedroom; Ike stayed awake in his own room, sitting on the bed with his legs over one side, watching the clouds move across the distant night sky.

Whether it was nervous energy that had finally run its course or the last bits of achiness dragging at his muscles, Ike finally fell asleep, his dreams untroubled by looming responsibility.

Tomorrow. Everything changed tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope no one here expects a word for word transposition of game dialogue and events bc it's creative liberty season all year long in this house


	3. Chapter 3

‘ _What we know about the properties of cirro-nimbus gales can be recorded on the underside of a birch leaf newly formed in spring and none the more ephemeral. Despite these shortcomings, modern aeolian scholars believe that latent properties within different sects of wind can affect the caster in question and direct their spells in nuanced, subtle ways; perhaps the most infamous unrecorded instance of this is…_ ’

Soren rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and shut the heavy book, setting it aside on the desk he’d been sitting at. He’d been down here reading for what felt like hours—since dawn, in truth, when the Melior library opened to the public—and had caught himself nodding off too many times in the last paragraph not to warrant a break. The gray stone walls of the archives room seemed to waver in Soren’s peripheral vision; staring too long at text tended to do that, not that that was a sufficient enough deterrent to keep him from his research. What were a few physical hindrances compared to the benefit of knowledge?

Soren flexed his fingers to get the blood flowing again and opened the tome, thumbing through to find where he’d left off.

A terrible, bestial scream rent the air outside.

Soren only had a moment before the building shook and dust rained down from the ceiling. Coughing, Soren stood and shielded his eyes as he leaned up to check the tiny window that peeked out onto the street above.

The city was chaos.

Black-clad soldiers marched stoically towards the castle, their faces masked by helms and their weapons shining in the bright midday sun. Their steps fell like drumbeats across the cobbles. Cavaliers on brown and gray destriers surged around them, pushing an advance and cutting down anyone who stood in their path without discrimination. As bystanders fled, archers shot them down like game birds, and the army advanced.

Soren backed away from the window and enacted his evacuation plan with grim efficiency.

He’d packed lightly—years of security couldn’t rob him of instinct—and kept his meager belongings on him at all times, even if it attracted the quirky comments from other scholars studying at Melior’s extensive royal library. Soren left behind the books he’d borrowed with only a twinge of regret. There was no time. Daein was the only nation with a wyvern troop that large, the only nation who outfitted their soldiers in black armor like a legion of shadows. If the vanguard had breached the city so quickly and without warning, if there were soldiers in the streets armed with axes and sickeningly sharp swords…

Soren grimaced. They did not come here for diplomacy.

He threw his traveling cloak over his narrow shoulders and buckled the clasp, checking for a green leatherbacked tome in the sling at his hip before leaving the archives. Thankfully, the Melior royal library kept their more delicate materials in the basement, saving him the unnecessary trouble of returning to his room at the mercenary annex. It was far more convenient to take a straight route from the library to the mercantile district.

With the exception of that first shock, Soren kept cool even as another heavy tremor shook the upper floor of the library. His mind had slipped into that space of unnatural calm normally reserved for mathematics and chess:

_Three score wyvern riders armed with lances, possibly additional units coming in from the mountains,_ he thought, trusting his body to move where it needed to without being told. Dodge a librarian. Slip past the front doors and into the street. Press flat against the wall, duck under an apple tree, run for the nearest alley. _Cavalry seem to be approaching from the east, relatively well-trained, so that exit is compromised. No sense risking the northern gate; the Royal Army is based there. West it is._

A loud bell chime sounded from the castle. Soren spared it no glance and pressed further towards the city walls.

“The King’s ordered us to flee!” someone shouted further down the road. “Hurry, get the children, and—”

“—gate is under siege, there’s too many soldiers…”

“—the Royal Army is here! We can—”

“—have nowhere else to go, please, come with—”

Voices swarmed like gnats through the air as Soren ran. He leapt over a pile of fresh mortar, holding his breath against the stone dust. All around him, Melior was crumbling, and while he could see glimpses of gilded-edged Crimean royal armor among the black, it was foolhardy to hedge bets against such a brutal onslaught. King Ramon had mobilized his troops too late. Lord Renning did not have the numbers or equipment to turn the tide. Those were the simple facts.

Soren skidded to a halt and ducked behind an overturned cart. One of the soldiers in black armor had skewered a man clean through with his lance and was trying to discard the body. Blood ran into the crevasses between the cobblestones.

_Keep moving,_ Soren thought, mouth dry. _Get out. Run!_

He raced out of cover once the soldier’s head was turned, letting the latent wind spirits press against his back to push him faster through the streets. By now, others had gotten wind of the King’s orders, and bodies were crowding together in masses of heat and fear-driven flesh.

Soren wove between them like a serpent through the grass.

_I can last over a week without food. That is more than enough time to make it back to the fort before Daein presses its assault further…_

A little voice that sounded an awful lot like Ike butted into Soren’s head just as the gate came into view.

_Come on,_ it said, _don’t be foolish. You can’t make it all the way on foot that fast if you refuse to eat! Take a carriage, see if someone has a horse you can barter for. Don’t push yourself._

Soren hiked his bag higher over one shoulder and pressed on, ignoring that little voice. His best friend was back at the mercenary fort in the countryside, not here, and it was that lack of supervision that enabled Soren to disregard the plight of those around him, bypass the commotion at the western gate, and abandon Melior without a trace of guilt. Daein would not care for one slim boy who’d slipped from their clutches.

Behind him, another crash reverberated through the city, and a bright plume of fire leapt from somewhere in the streets. Soren ran. Even as his breath pressed against his lungs and he tripped over loose country stones and roots, he pushed himself farther and farther and only looked back to ensure he wasn’t being followed.

He only let himself rest once he’d put a safe distance between himself and the capital. A bit of water. A moment to tug his hair back into its leather ties. And then he was off.

\---

Ashnard set Gurgurant tip-first into the soil outside Castle Crimea. Blood ran down its serrated blade and soaked the flowers. Corpses littered the garden. In hardly an hour’s time, the capital had been cowed—more time had been wasted moving his damned troops here than the attack itself. Such inefficiencies of war…

His ebony wyvern pawed the ground and roared again, stretching his neck to scent the air, nostrils flared and eyes wild. The iron-rich air was making his pet antsy; Ashnard yanked on the chain around the wyvern’s neck to force its head down. The animal relented, though it bristled with a growl low in its throat.

A Daein soldier approached from the front gates and bowed when she reached Ashnard.

“My King,” she said, “the gates are secure and all civilian riots have been quelled. The man you captured has been sent to the dungeon as per your request.” The soldier bowed. “Crimea is yours.”

A terrible smile twisted across Ashnard’s lips. The King of Daein leaned his head back and laughed, triumphant, to the sky.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took forever sorry

Sunlight broke through the veil of sleep to wake Ike a half hour after sunrise. His sleep had been fitful—even with the promise of finally being accepted as a true member of the company, anxiety had wormed its way under his skin and pricked him awake time and time again. If Soren was home, Ike could’ve counted on the other boy being awake at an irresponsible hour of the night and would have sat to read or idly talk until he was tired again. Unfortunately, his friend was still in Melior, so Ike had lain in bed in the dark trying to sleep off and on all night.

The last traces of that nervous energy left him as he dressed, tied his bangs back with a strip of green cloth, and went downstairs to the family kitchen, nearly walking into Greil’s back as he entered. His father and Titania, the deputy commander, were standing near the counter with weapons strapped to their belts.

“Good morning, Commander,” Ike said, grateful that he didn’t slip into familiarity.

“Good morning, Ike,” Greil said; he put up two fingers to stall Titania’s question and turned towards his son. “Sleep well?”

“Yes, sir, and I’m ready for my first job.”

“What you _are_ is _late_ ,” Greil said with a growl under his voice. “Everyone else in the company was outfitted and fed at dawn.”

“I’m sorry, Commander,” Ike said without skipping a beat. “I’ll wake earlier tomorrow and be ready before the others even rise.”

Greil quirked his brow; even Titania’s eyes crinkled with amusement. Greil leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms, tapping his fingers against his forearm.

“I’ll hold you to that promise, you know,” he said.

“I understand,” said Ike.

“Awfully bold claim for someone without a track record,” Titania said. A smile finally broke across her lips, shining like the smooth off-white pauldrons already strapped to her shoulders. “Commander Greil, are you sure you’d like to hire such a green recruit?”

“I am, but he’ll need to pull his weight same as everyone else. No slacking off, no delegation, no complaints. I already told the boy he’ll get no special treatment from me just for being my son.”

“A wise decision. Can’t have the air of responsibility fill his head with grand ideas, now.”

“I’m right here,” Ike said with a frown.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop teasing,” Titania said, pulling a few loose strands of red hair back into her braid. “Commander Greil and I need to outline the rest of the day’s plans, anyway.”

“Wait outside until we’re done,” Greil said to Ike.

Ike nodded—his father’s tone begged no nonsense, and as soon as he sidestepped around the two to snag a roll from the breadbasket Greil and Titania resumed their discussion as if Ike wasn’t even there. Not one to eavesdrop in plain sight, Ike did as Greil told him and slipped out the side door onto the grass.

He leaned back against the rough sandstone wall of the fort and stared up at the sky. Clouds were rolling in from the east, and the trees at the far end of the meadow had finally budded enough to pepper the landscape with green. Ike breathed in the morning air, closed his eyes, and hummed a few bars of a little tune he’d caught from Mist earlier that week. Something about it relaxed him, even if he could never get all the notes right.

He barely had a minute’s respite before the door swung open and jolted him back to the present. Titania caught his eye and smiled, waving Ike to step in beside her as she led the way to the stable around back.

“What’s our mission?” Ike asked.

“Caldea,” said Titania. Her stride was purposeful but not hurried, and her red braid swung like a pendulum across her back. She was roughly a head taller than Ike but barely twice his age; still, she held a composure that did not welcome idle argument, and her green eyes could be both ice and fire depending on her mood. When they reached the stables, Titania had Ike wait by the stall doors as she saddled her white destrier mare.

“They’ve had trouble with a group of bandits known as the Hound’s Teeth for about a week, now,” she continued, tightening the saddle’s girth with a grunt of effort. “They’ve taken over the village meetinghouse near the north side of town and have been harassing the villagers with demands. No one’s blood has been spilled yet, but the Caldeans are at their wits’ end trying to appease the bandits. We’ll need to all keep on our toes and ensure that the only ones who perish are the Hound’s Teeth and no one else.”

“We’ll ‘all’?” Ike asked, taken by surprise. He kept pace next to Titania as she mounted her horse and led it at a walk towards the road. “Who else is coming?”

***

“…bet you won’t last a _second_ out there without your buddy Boyd watchin’ your back,” Boyd said, stretching his arms behind his head to catch the sunlight streaming through the still-bare trees. “Bandits can get real sneaky. Just stay behind me and leave the hacking and slashing to the professional, all right?”

“I have a suspicion I’ll be the one watching _your_ back,” Ike countered, trying not to kick a pebble out of irritation. “Who was it who beat you flat the other day during training?”

“Psh, that was only because I was goin’ easy on you!”

“My _dad_ was the one who went easy. _You_ were just sloppy.”

“Hey!”

“Boys, quit arguing and shape up,” Titania said, pulling her horse back to properly chide them from the saddle. Her white destrier laid its ears flat and snorted as if it, too, had had enough of Ike and Boyd’s bickering. “Caldea’s at the end of this hill once we pass this copse of trees. I’d rather not announce our presence in such an unprofessional manner.”

“Sure thing, mom,” Boyd drawled.

“Apologies, Titania,” Ike said more humbly.

Titania rolled her shoulders and flexed the muscles of her hands, letting them rest against the reins. She’d brought a double-sided axe that hung from its loop on the saddle—a slightly nicked thing, but nonetheless sharp. Ike made sure to keep clear of it as he walked beside her. Already, the bolt of bright red fabric he wore as a cape had snagged against the axe head when Ike had been too careless to keep his distance. He made a mental note to patch it later and focused on the trail ahead.

The trees they’d been traveling through thinned several strides ahead towards a long, gently sloping hill that emptied at a river surrounded by patches of forest and farmland. To the east, a rocky cliff jutted out of the ground like a great stone horse raising its head to survey the landscape, and in the shadow of that cliff halfway to the river was a small cluster of wood-framed houses trailing coils of chimney smoke.

“There’s Caldea,” Titania said, pulling her horse to a stop to point at the village once they were clear of the trees. “Ike, I understand you may be antsy, this being your first proper mission as a member of the company, but I believe you can handle this.”

“I’m not antsy,” Ike said. “I was nervous last night trying to fall asleep, but right now I’m…weirdly calm.”

 _Clouds before a storm,_ he thought, letting the image fade from his mind as he concentrated on the land in front of him. Sunlight and morning shadows. Fresh air and focus.

Titania made a little noise in the back of her throat and nodded. “Good,” she said. “A level head is important in a mercenary. Just stay near me, Boyd, or Oscar when you see him, and don’t rush anyone alone.”

Ike squinted, trying to spot Boyd’s older brother down in the village, but the shadow cast by the cliff made it almost impossible to see individual figures at this distance.

“Where did Oscar go, anyway?” Ike asked.

“He’s meeting us there. Greil wants him to circle towards the far side of the village under cover to help cut off any bandits who try to escape.”

“They’ll all turn tail and run the moment they see us,” Boyd said, crossing his arms to frown down at the village. His bushy eyebrows made it look like a portcullis made from pine needles had lowered over his eyes. “Bandits who do stuff like this are cowards, anyway. They only think they can get away with it because they’re bullies by nature. But we’ll show them!”

“Boyd, please don’t fill Ike’s head with reckless confidence,” Titania said wearily. “The last thing we need are you two charging ahead and getting yourselves killed.”

Boyd muttered something under his breath that Ike couldn’t catch, but he didn’t raise any more objections.

“Are you ready?” Titania asked.

Ike took one last look at the village before them, committing as many rough details of the layout and terrain as he could. He breathed in deep and set his shoulders back, feeling the jostle of the iron sword in its sheath at his hip.

“Ready,” he said, and they were off.

***

True to Boyd’s prediction, the bandits puffed their chests and snarled the moment they caught wind of the mercenaries entering their stolen territory, but the moment Titania and Boyd had felled three of them the group began to scatter like mice before a hungry rat terrier. Titania led her horse through the alleys to corral whoever she could and kill whoever stood in her way with the efficiency of a wolf. Oscar, astride a chestnut courser slim-legged and fast, rounded any of the bandits who tried to flee the village. With a slim lance half as tall as a house he herded the runaways until they were penned against the cliffside on the edge of town to await further judgement.

The mission lasted one hour.

Ike killed two men.

The first was an unknown face in self-defense. Ike had followed Boyd around a side street to flush out anyone hiding in the alley when the man had charged them, a scraggly fellow with a cleft chin, a wicked axe, and murder in his eyes.

Ike had reacted without thinking. In one smooth motion he’d drawn his sword and cut the man across the stomach, whirled while the body fell, and stuck the point of his sword into the man’s back right between the ribs to make sure he never got up. The man gurgled once and fell silent.

It was only after Ike had left the body behind that the weight of his sword suddenly felt like lead in his hand and the trail of deep, deep red dripping from the blade nauseated him to his core. He slowed to a stop, staring at the bloody sword. Ahead of him, Boyd peeked around the side of a house and motioned for Ike to join him, but when a few seconds passed and no other footsteps came, Boyd looked back and frowned.

“You alright?” Boyd asked.

“Yeah,” Ike said, still staring at the blade. Boyd clapped a hand on Ike’s shoulder and gently shook him, just enough to remind the blue-haired boy that he had a physical body.

“Keep your head on straight,” Boyd said, oddly quiet for his otherwise boisterous cadence. “Killing’s a part of the job. We bring death wherever we go, and even professionals like yours truly struggle with it. All you can do is shove it away until you have time to deal with it later.”

 _Shove it away,_ Ike thought, taking the mental image of the corpse he’d rendered and burying it under thoughts of inventory and whetstones. _Deal with it later._ Ike took a deep breath and sorted the iron-rich scent of blood into the background, replacing it with hay and dead grass.

“You good?”

“Yeah, I’m all right,” Ike said. He wiped the sword as clean as he could get it on the bushes beside the house. “Let’s move.”

The second person Ike killed was the man in charge of the Hound’s Teeth, a self-proclaimed brawler known as Zawanar. He had stationed himself in front of the meetinghouse, all bravado and swagger, shouting insults at the mercenaries whenever he could catch a glimpse of them around houses and rickety fences. When Ike had confronted Zawanar, he’d asked the bandit to surrender first.

“Surrender? To _you?_ ” Zawanar snapped. “You’re nothing but a boy with a curtain ‘round his shoulders playing at being a fighter.” The bandit snarled, baring yellowed teeth. “Come any closer, kid, and I’ll show you what a _real_ fighter can do. You’d best run off and bring your little band with you if you have any sense.”

Ike had squared his stance and leveled his sword.

“The only one without sense is you,” he said. Zawanar’s lip twitched. Keeping his voice level, Ike pressed, “If _you_ want to run, now’s your chance. But the rest of my company has Caldea penned in. I doubt you’d get far.”

Zawanar barked a laugh that sounded like a coyote, and before Ike could get another word in the bandit rushed him, brandishing a two-handed axe. Ike sidestepped, turned, slashed twice the way his father taught him, and left the leader Zawanar facedown in the dirt. Belatedly, Ike realized he’d gotten a nick on his own shoulder, but it was hardly deep and barely stung. He sheathed his sword and flagged down Titania.

“It’s done,” he said once she’d reined in her horse.

Titania dismounted, checked Zawanar’s body for any signs of life, and nodded to herself. When she turned to face Ike properly, she put a hand on his uninjured shoulder.

“Good work, Ike,” she said, smiling despite the smudges of dirt all over her armor. One of her horse’s white flanks was dirty, too, and the animal swished its tail across as if it could clean it off on its own.

“Thanks,” Ike said. He looked around the clearing at the houses with shut curtains and locked doors, catching glimpses of fearful residents peeking through the windows to check if the coast was clear. A small girl caught his eye and disappeared with a squeak below the window of her house.

“Don’t worry, we’re through here,” Titania said. “The brothers are checking for any last stragglers, and once we meet with Caldea’s leader for payment we can head home. I think we all earned the afternoon off—and if the Commander disagrees with me, well, that’s tough luck for him.”

Ike laughed wearily at that and put both hands on the back of his neck to rub at the sudden crick there. Titania rubbed the neck of her destrier, staring absentmindedly at a spot uphill. The fields were still brown, but like the trees, patches of green were beginning to poke through here and there.

“You know, you surprised me today,” Titania said quietly.

It took Ike a moment to realize she was speaking to him. He tugged on the knot securing his headband in place. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“You’ve come a long way. I had my worries that you were too overeager, but you’ve proven yourself. I’m glad Commander Greil let you join the company proper.”

“Hah, yeah, but I still have a long way to go before I’m any kind of the swordsman my father is,” Ike said. “He could have taken out this entire bandit problem single-handedly. I’m still clumsy, by my standards, and Boyd had to shake me to my senses after I, ah, took care of one of the bandits by that alley there.”

“First kill?”

“Yeah.”

Titania pursed her lips and hummed noncommittally. “It gets easier with time,” she said after a pause. Her voice was soft, like her mind was out there in the fields instead. “The first few are difficult. Their faces will follow you around the corners of your fort and into any pool of water. But eventually they blur, and with time, you can let them become the ghosts they are. If you find yourself haunted by the lives you take, Ike, you can speak with me at any time.”

“I… thank you, Titania,” Ike said. He fidgeted with his cape. The cut on his shoulder had finally started to sting properly, and Ike focused on the faint pain there to keep his mind in place. _Shove it away. Deal with it later._

“Hey, boss! Er, second-in-command boss!”

Titania sighed. “Just my name is fine, Boyd, you know this.”

Boyd jogged up, face gleaming with sweat, and behind him Oscar led his horse along by the reins on foot. Boyd waved the comment away with a flippant hand.

“Sure, sure, but I got to be a good example for the newbie,” he said. Ike tried not to roll his eyes. “That wasn’t too bad for your first job, either, Ike—of course, not as flashy as _I_ was my first time, but that can’t be helped, I suppose.”

“Ah, yes,” Oscar said, “the infamous first outing in Thalea, just after the spring floods. I’ll never forget you getting so worked up that you broke your own axe trying to chop up a rock. A real standout moment, that was.”

Boyd let out a breath through his nose. His older brother, Oscar, shared Boyd’s healthy wide shoulders and sharp chin, but that was where the similarities ended. Where Boyd was burly, Oscar was slender, and the older brother actually managed to keep his hair neatly parted and combed. Oscar always smelled like cumin and straw, not sweat and earth.

“Dammit, Oscar,” Boyd said, “did you really have to bring that up? I have a reputation to maintain!”

“I’m just making sure you don’t misinform Ike with your tales of grandeur,” Oscar replied smoothly.

He winked at Ike—though it was hard to tell, considering Oscar always wore a half-lidded expression as if he was ten minutes away from sleep. It was a wonder he was so accurate with his lance.

“It’s fine, really,” Ike said. “I’m more interested in going home to rest than Boyd’s questionable stories.”

“Then let me track down our contractor,” Titania said, “and we’ll head out. I’m sure Mist has started putting together a nice meal for the company dinner.”

Oscar, Ike, and Boyd shared an uneasy look between them. Titania frowned.

“Come on, it won’t be _that_ bad,” she chastised. “Oscar can resume cooking duties tomorrow, how about that?”

The three men collectively slumped in relief. Titania shook her head and went to some of the villagers who’d emerged from their houses, asking around for the person in charge.

“I keep trying to teach her,” Oscar whispered, “but for some reason, she never connects the dots on things like seasoning. At least she stopped turning meat into leather…”

“My sister can be pretty stubborn when it comes to learning new things,” Ike said.

“Cut from the same cloth, eh?” Boyd said, elbowing Ike in the ribs.

Just like that, their bickering came to a head once more, and the fighting and the bandits and the red stains on their weapons drifted into just another memory. The sun was bright. They were alive. In the moment, that was what mattered.

***

The ghosts came for Ike in the night between bouts of deep sleep. He shut his eyes and let the familiar darkness of his room stop him from seeing blood. With both hands, he curled his knuckles against his eyes and pressed hard enough to see bursts of stars.

_It gets easier, Titania said. The first few kills are the hardest. Death is part of the job. You wanted this, remember? Lament the lives you take, but move on._

_Shove it away. Deal with it later._

When dawn broke, Ike was already downstairs, dressed and ready for work.


	5. Chapter 5

The first day had been brief and bloody.

The second day, Mist had nearly fainted with relief when Ike had found her unharmed.

By the third day, Ike was convinced the universe was conspiring to make his orientation as a mercenary as trying an experience as possible, and no matter of stubborn pride or gritted teeth was able to change that.

He rubbed a bit of salve into his shoulder, being careful not to press too hard against the bruise there. So far, the few wounds he’d gathered from his missions were small and didn’t hinder him, so he’d avoided coming to Rhys’s ward. Why bother their only healer on his sickbed just to dress a superficial wound? Other people needed the resource first. Besides, Rhys was a frail man prone to bouts of illness, and forcing him to work when he should be resting went against Ike’s personal code of ethics.

_But Rhys is finally out and about after recovering from his illness,_ Ike thought, carefully screwing the cap back onto the clay jar and setting it on the shelf where he’d found it, _so I can nick a little bit of comfrey salve without feeling guilty for asking._

Ike rolled his shoulder to check the tension and tugged his shirt back into place. Rhys’s ward in the fort was relatively small and mostly occupied by shelves of medical supplies and a few healing staves hung on the wall. A cot with neatly folded sheets was tucked into one corner beside an open window. Jars of dried herbs and a mortar and pestle sat on a low wood table along the wall next to the staves, always kept immaculately clean save for a few scattered leaves here and there. The room always smelled floral, but never musty, with a lingering sharpness in the air from magic-casting.

Ike scratched the back of his neck with both hands and made for the door. He hadn’t bothered with the additional trappings that day—no leather shoulder guard, no extra pouches tied to his belt for rations. He kept a narrow sword at his hip out of instinct, but that was it.

Right as his hand closed around the door handle, it turned and opened outward on its own. Ike had to step back to avoid walking smack into a slender man with a brush of warm ginger hair.

“Oh, good morning, Ike!” Rhys said, his voice soft as feathers. He graciously stepped into the hallway to make room for Ike, even though the doorway could have accommodated them both if they slipped sideways past each other.

“Good morning, Rhys.”

“It’s unusual to see you here, I have to admit. I thought you would be out on a mission with Gatrie and Shinon today?”

“No, Father has me…temporarily suspended,” Ike said as plainly as he could. The taste of that sentence lay bitter on his tongue.

Rhys must have seen something on Ike’s face, because he winced sympathetically.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I heard some of what happened from Titania when she came to get her wounds dressed yesterday, but I never got the chance to speak to you about it. Are you alright?”

Ike shifted uncomfortably, trying to avoid looking Rhys in the eye. Rhys was a willow of a man with a bright smile and a bright mind for healing; he was the only member of the company who always wore white no matter the weather. He’d helped Mist pick and prepare herbs from the countryside, and despite his frailty, he would come watch the men practice swordsmanship in the yard as if he could lift one of the weapons himself. The man was a blessing on two legs, and it made Ike’s stomach twist knowing he’d been avoiding this conversation since coming home bruised in body and pride yesterday.

“I’m fine,” Ike said, rubbing his neck again. The memory was still fresh, but no amount of Rhys’s salves could soften it.

It had been raining yesterday. Titania had stormed out of the fort with fury in her eyes and a crumpled note in her hand, her long red braid a banner of crimson wrath. When Ike had asked her what was wrong, Titania snapped at him to stay put and not to follow. Direct orders. No nonsense. But Ike had caught the whispers of that note from Rhys, who’d unwittingly delivered it, and the contents had made Ike’s heart race.

Mist and Rolf had been kidnapped. Taken by a bandit by the name of Ikanau, holed up in the cliffs north of Caldea, nabbed from the fields behind the mercenary fort that morning without anyone noticing.

Ike had grabbed his sword and marched into the rain without a second thought. Titania ordering him was one thing, but his sister was all he had aside from the cobbled-together family that was his father’s mercenaries, the only reminder of his mother’s voice in the way Mist would sing their old family song in moments of peace and quiet at the fort. She was his sibling, and no amount of orders would stop him from protecting her.

So he’d ran off after Titania, Boyd on his heels, the two butting heads the entire time they followed the trail of their deputy commander’s horse to the cliffs. They’d found Titania deep in combat with a group of bandits all on her own, cutting them from atop her white destrier whose hooves were caked with mud. Ike had fallen into the rhythm of his swordsmanship and let his bladework speak for itself the moment he arrived. He and Boyd didn’t rest until they’d rescued their siblings and brought them back home.

Titania was displeased.

Greil was cross.

That night, after they had time to dry off and cool their heads, Ike’s father summoned him to the briefing room. Greil had shed whatever softness he’d shown that afternoon when Mist and Rolf had returned safely to the fort—Ike was standing before the rock of a man who held a firm reputation all across central Crimea.

Their argument was brief and brittle.

“I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.”

“I understand, but a mercenary’s job is to follow _directives_ , not feelings.”

“She could have been killed!”

“So could you, for that matter,” Greil countered. “So could Boyd, and Titania, and anyone who works for me as a member of this company.” He held up a calloused hand, stopping Ike before he could interject. “I understand your concern, Ike. Mist is my daughter as well as your sister, and Rolf is like family to us as well. The thought of losing either of them is like a nail driven through my core.”

“Then—”

“But Titania is my deputy commander. She gave you an instruction. No matter your feelings, you do not disobey a direct order from a superior officer.”

Greil took a beat then, his eyes stern and his jaw hard, mulling over his next words.

“Titania may have been right. You might still be too green for this,” he muttered.

Ike was silent. Greil let out a breath through his nose.

“Ten days’ suspension. We may be understaffed, but we’ve survived without you before and can manage that same weight now. I want you to temper your impulses and rethink what it means to be a member of this company before you recklessly endanger yourself and behave insubordinately.”

Ike had bitten his tongue, eyes aflame, trying desperately to think of something, anything to make his father understand—but it wasn’t his father he was addressing, it was the Commander, and nothing could sway that stony mind once it was set.

“Yes, Commander,” he relented.

Greil nodded once and dismissed him; Ike spent the rest of the night in the armory polishing their collection of nicked swords and armor until every piece shone. He let the mindless work drag every restless nerve out of him until he could fall asleep well past midnight and wake just before the dawn.

***

“It will be okay,” Rhys said, putting a soft hand on Ike’s shoulder. “Commander Greil is a hard man, but he is fair. I’m sure he’ll let you back into the company’s good graces once your suspension is lifted.”

“I guess,” Ike said. He awkwardly moved out of the way to let Rhys into the medical ward. The open window let in a breeze thick with humidity; the storm had mostly passed, but gray clouds still lingered on the horizon, promising more rain later that day.

Rhys turned his head towards it and breathed it in with a pleasant smile across his face. “If the rain holds off for another hour or so, would you like to join me and Mist on our rounds? Now that it’s spring, we check the gardens for weeds and look for the first edible plants of the season.”

Ike wanted to refuse. Being regulated back to household chores after finally getting a taste of mercenary life was like being a dog whose owner kept it leashed in the house after letting it roam free for a day.

But Greil did not raise a slacker, nor did he raise a son who considered himself above menial labor. If Ike wanted to prove he was diligent enough to be part of the company, he had to put in the effort.

“Sure thing,” Ike said, offering Rhys a slight smile, burying any trace of selfishness.

Rhys beamed like sunlight. “I’ll be just a moment, then!” he said as he rummaged around the room for a canvas-lined basket and pruning scissors. Ike waited just outside the doorway, picking at loose threads on his shirt. When Rhys rejoined him, he led the way down the hall and around the bend towards one of the back exits to the fort.

“Ike, you know you don’t need to sneak around my back if you need any healing supplies,” Rhys chided.

“You were resting. I didn’t want to bother you for something that didn’t need immediate attention.”

“But it was bothering _you_. Here, I’ll make you a small pot of comfrey salve for yourself to hold on to when we get back. That way, you don’t need to worry about inconveniencing me in the future, even though it would not have been one in the first place.”

“I—thanks, Rhys,” Ike said.

Rhys smiled and hummed a few tuneless notes, adjusting the basket on his arm. Ike got the door for him, not about to let Rhys accidentally throw out a shoulder trying to shove the heavy wood door aside on his own. The grass was slick with leftover rain, and mud quickly caked into the soles of their boots as the two men began their walk along the property. The fort was old and steadfast, and more than a few patches of weeds and tenacious plants had staked their claim along the cracks in the sandstone walls once the snows had melted. Rhys clipped the stems of a few crocuses poking out from the dirt and handed them to Ike.

Ike looked at the flowers in confusion. Rhys closed his fingers around them, insisting Ike take them.

“The mark of a good leader isn’t in their command,” Rhys said quietly. “It’s in their words and deeds, and whether the two match. Greil is a man of iron and stone; he maintains a strict code of conduct and does not let his emotions sway him. He does what he sets out to do and accomplishes things through sheer force of will.”

Ike grimaced, but Rhys pressed on:

“But you wear your heart more openly, Ike. You care about your friends and family, and you factor in their wants and needs before you take a step in any direction. The reason you and your father butt heads is because you handle leadership in different ways. It’s nothing that time and patience won’t fix.” Rhys smiled. “You will make a fine leader of your own, someday, Ike. I just know it.”

Rhys stepped back and turned to examine a dead vine embedded in the wall. Ike stared at the blue-violet crocuses in his hand. Dirt came off on his fingertips as he carefully held the bundle of stems, turning them to see the petals in the gray light.

He tucked the stems into the fabric of his headband, letting the flowers poke out of his hair, and helped Rhys with the weeds.

***

The first day had been a blur.

The second day, rain had made travel slow and miserable.

By the third day, Soren was able to hitch a ride on the back of a cart bound for central Crimea for the price of two days’ meals, a paltry sum out of the coin he’d swiped from his possessions in Melior before he fled.

Squished between a crate and an open-barred cage holding two chickens, Soren pulled his hood up over his eyes to shield them from the weather. The morning had been pleasant until the rain started up again, dragging mist and cold drizzle across the countryside. So far, no shadows followed him from the capital. So far, no wyverns were in pursuit, no cavaliers atop black horses were razing the fields looking for things to destroy.

So far, no one of importance who was still alive knew Crimea was at war.

The cart rocked as it ran over a pothole. The chickens squawked, scattering feathers as they jostled one another for a better position in the cage. Soren picked the white feathers off of his black robes and fixed the birds with a glare.

“You two are the most dismal companions I’ve ever had the misfortune of traveling with,” he said. “And that includes Shinon.”

The chickens bawked and flapped their wings. Soren grumbled and curled his knees up, drawing further into himself to conserve heat.

The cart rumbled on until sunset, when the woman in charge finally stopped for the day to let her mules drink from a stream and pitch a tent. Soren unfolded himself from the back and crept away before the woman could notice, slipping into the trees like a ghost. She’d probably forgotten all about him, anyway.

Soren paused at the crest of a wooded hill, peering out between the trees at the rolling fields that swept towards the south. They’d passed into the familiar hills of central Crimea hours ago, but now that twilight was upon them, the landscape was becoming harder and harder to differentiate against the gray-and-orange sky.

Soren closed his eyes. His thin black hair whipped around him as the wind spirits at his back whispered directions in his ears. With a swift motion of his hand Soren dismissed them.

South-southwest, twenty degrees.

_Good enough,_ Soren thought, turning the requisite angle from the setting sun and starting off down the hill. The misshapen forms of rocks and boulders from landslides long since passed cluttered the hillside, but Soren stepped around them without breaking his stride.

Only twenty more miles.

If he hurried, he could make it there by daybreak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rhys is the mercenaries' therapist and you can't convince me otherwise


	6. Chapter 6

“Brother! Ike, Ike, Ike, I—”

“Mist, ow, it is _way_ too early to be shouting like that,” Ike said, rubbing the side of his head with a grimace.

He set down the mugs he’d pulled from the kitchen cabinet on the stone counter. It was barely an hour past dawn, but the sky had yet to clear; gray clouds still covered the fields from the bouts of rain the past two days, and early morning fog drifted across the grounds like sheets of gauze. Ike had made his way to the small family kitchen shortly after waking, avoiding any possible contact with the rest of the company—or his father’s stone eyes—intending to sneak a few bites of salted meat from the stores before the company dispersed for their daily jobs. So far, no one had come through on their way to other parts of the fort, and those Ike saw through the windows didn’t pay him any mind.

Only Mist had bothered to pester him. And, despite it being too early in the morning for her level of sunshine, Ike could never begrudge his sister for more than a few seconds. 

Ike turned around and propped his elbows on the countertop behind him. Mist hopped in place, her loose tawny hair swishing with the motion. She’d thrown on a blanket as a shawl but was otherwise dressed in sleepclothes, her hair out of its clips and her feet snug in woolen socks. Ike stifled a yawn.

“Whatever it is, Mist, can it wait until after we’ve eaten breakfast?” he asked. “Father hasn’t even left yet.”

“It’s important!”

Ike sighed, leaning his head back. “Alright, go ahead, then.”

Mist opened her mouth to speak, but Ike hurriedly interrupted her.

“But, before you say what it is, please take the shouting level down at least three notches. You’ll give us both a headache.”

Mist took an exaggeratedly long breath, puffing out her cheeks. When she couldn’t take the suspense any more, she let it out in a rush of air.

“Soren’s back!” she said. “I just saw him come down from the north road—I think he went in the side entrance; I saw him in the mess hall talking to Father when I was on my way downstairs—he looked kinda rained-on but he seemed fine otherwise, I mean it’s _Soren_ so ‘fine’ probably means ‘aloof and a little sarcastic’, but that’s normal, and I think they must’ve been talking about something important because I heard them close the door when I walked by, and…”

It took Ike half a minute to catch up to Mist’s babbling river of thought.

“Wait, wait, Soren’s _home?_ ” he said. “I thought he was staying in Melior for another two months, until mid-spring at the earliest.”

“Yeah, well, apparently not. I wonder what he’s doing back. Maybe he missed us so much he came home early?”

Ike cracked a smile. He ruffled his sister’s hair affectionately, despite her attempts to slap him away.

“Who couldn’t miss a little pest like you?” he teased.

“Hey! I am a _delightful_ pest, I’ll have you know. Boyd even said so!”

“Don’t listen to Boyd. He once ate a whole watermelon in three minutes because Rolf dared him to.”

Mist rolled her eyes. She sidestepped around her brother and nabbed a biscuit from the bread basket, taking a too-big bite out of it and dropping crumbs on the floor.

“Anyway, I just wanted to tell you,” she said around the biscuit. “Mmph—how come my biscuits never come out like Oscar’s? I do all the right steps, even heating the embers in the oven to the right color, but they always come out looking like rocks...”

Ike drummed his fingertips against the counter, eyes trained on the empty hallway leading out from the kitchen towards the rest of the fort. It was probably nothing to worry about. Soren operated on his own machinations, and if he decided his internship with that other mercenary group wasn’t worth his time anymore, he might’ve come back because of it. Still, the nerves Ike had tried to quell began to needle at his skin, and he shifted restlessly to the balls of his feet.

“Where’d you say he was again?” Ike asked, still looking towards the hallway.

“The mess hall with Father. Weren’t you listening?”

“I—sure. I’ll go talk to him. See what the matter is, you know. Make sure you clean the crumbs up, Mist; we don’t want mice again.”

“Fine, fine…”

Ike left the family kitchen without taking a bite of food for himself. His stomach felt tight.

Breakfast could wait.

***

Ike made his way down the fort’s angular corridors to the mess hall, nodding at Rhys when he passed the healer’s ward next to the galley. The mess hall was on the opposite side of the fort—Ike, Mist, and Greil’s quarters were above the small family kitchen on one end, but the proper galley where Oscar liked to cook was across the building. The fort wasn’t particularly big, and Ike could cross the distance in one minute flat if he lengthened his stride, but he caught his feet dragging as he neared the familiar wood-paneled doors of the mess hall. He slowed to a stop, cape falling around his calves. A sour feeling sat on his tongue.

He’d wanted to tell Soren he’d joined the mercenary company the moment Greil had approved him, but with his current suspension it hardly felt like something worth celebrating anymore.

_‘Oh, hey, Soren, I managed to convince Father to let me join the company, but guess what! I was suspended for acting like an overprotective brother! Even though Mist was in danger and I ended up helping Titania fight through a pack of bandits! Funny how that happens, right?’_

Ike shook his head. He knew he was being petulant, and he took a moment to breathe deeply, letting that feeling pass.

_It’s probably nothing,_ he thought as he approached the double doors. _Soren probably came back because he’d exhausted his studies. Although I doubt he could read_ all _the books in Melior that fast…_

One of the doors was slightly ajar, letting low firelight spill out into the hallway. Ike was about ten paces from the doorway when he finally registered the low voices coming from inside the room:

“…can’t believe they’d stoop to levels like that,” Greil’s voice trailed. “Unannounced, without a formal declaration, either.”

“It’s Daein. They’ll stoop to any level to assert dominance.”

Ike fidgeted with his cloak. Soren’s ice-clear voice could cut through any din, and in an empty room with a high ceiling like the mess hall, it was like a bell in the early morning compared to Greil’s stony rumble.

Greil was quiet. Ike could imagine his father rubbing his chin stubble as he often did when he was pensive.

“We’ll need to send a group out to investigate,” Greil said. “If Daein advances, we don’t want to be caught unawares with them on our very doorstep.”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Soren.

The bench scraped against the stone floor; footsteps approached the doors.

“I’ll assemble the company. Meet us in the briefing room in one minute.”

“Understood.”

Ike barely had time to retreat five steps before the doors swung in and his father and his friend came through, ochre cape and jet-black robes awhirl. If they were surprised to see him, neither made any comment. Greil swept a passing glance over his son and nodded his chin down the hall.

“Ike, if you’ve got time to eavesdrop, you’ve got time to work,” he said gruffly. “Briefing room. One minute.”

“Yes, sir,” Ike said.

Greil grunted a noise of approval and left, the thud of his boots like war drums. Ike saw him quietly stick his head into Rhys’s ward to notify him before striding off, raising his voice as he went:

“Company meeting, one minute!”

Ike rubbed his ears. At least Greil had the courtesy to wait until he was out of Rhys’s immediate space before raising his typical meeting-call shout. The first time he’d shouted that loud around Rhys, the poor ginger-haired man had startled so badly he’d bruised his knee against a table.

“Your father has a…brusque way of calling order,” Soren said.

A little laugh escaped Ike’s lips. Beside him, Soren had a wry smile on, and he’d started picking off bits of grass from his robes

Ike studied him carefully. Soren was a slip of a boy on a good day, pale skin and long black hair, small nose and delicate fingers, but he looked like he’d been caught in a storm for days on end—dirt was smudged on his forehead, covering the curious red mark that branded him a Spirit Charmer, and his hair was more disheveled than Ike’s after a poor night of sleep. Mud caked the hem of his cloak and robes, and when he knocked one sandal against the other a clump of dried mud fell right off onto the floor.

“You look like hell,” Ike said.

Soren snorted. “That’s a charming way to start a conversation.”

“Well, you do—is this the current fashion in Melior? It’s awfully rustic.”

“Is it? I would call it more adjacent to ‘unintended camping.”

“You have a leaf stuck in your hair, by the way.”

Before Soren could reach up and grab it, Ike plucked the little teardrop-shaped leaf out of Soren’s hair and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger, making it spin. Ike laughed, nudging his friend gently in the shoulder.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, smiling.

“Likewise,” Soren replied. The ghost of a smile graced his face, and it was enough to make Ike feel like he’d won singlehandedly against a score of marauders.

“Ike! What’s the hold up? Get over here, now!” Greil bellowed from down the hall. Soren crinkled his nose.

“Best get going,” he said reluctantly. “Your father is not in a patient mood with the news I brought.”

“We’ll catch up later, then,” Ike said. He pocketed the leaf and started for the briefing room, Ike’s stride long and Soren’s hurried to keep the same pace. “What happened in Melior, anyway?”

“It’s bad. Crimea is at war.”

***

The briefing room was a square adorned with maps on every wall, tacked to the mortar between the stones in a haphazard mosaic of old paper and ink. Iron lanterns mounted in each corner helped illuminate the interior space and cast it in a warm, pale yellow glow that glossed over every map and the squat rectangular table in the center of the room. A pile of clay war figurines stood at attention in a box on a small desk beside the table. Greil had taken a terracotta-colored figure shaped like a drake and put it on top of Melior.

Ike filed in with Soren and maneuvered them towards the near end of the table. Greil stood at the head with Titania on his right. Soren moved up to take position on Greil’s left, leaving Ike scrambling to stay next to him before someone else could block. After a bit of shuffling and rearrangement, the core of Greil’s Mercenaries stood at attention for their Commander’s word.

Oscar, Boyd, and Gatrie. Shinon, Rhys, and Titania. Ike and Soren. Greil.

“Is everyone here?” Greil asked.

“Everyone but the kids,” Boyd said. He leaned his head around Oscar, directing his voice towards the door. “I bet they’re trying to _listen in, even though this isn’t a discussion for them!”_

In the pause that followed, two sets of scurrying feet ran off from just outside the door.

“Stupid brats,” Boyd muttered.

Titania sighed, shaking her head. Her hair was partly out of its braid, and a few strands had fallen to frame her face.

“If Mist and Rolf want to listen, they have every right to,” Greil said, “but I don’t have time to waste corralling them back here.” He looked at every face present, making sure everyone was paying attention. “As you all know, Soren here was studying in Melior with a mercenary troupe called the Thistled Reeds. Three days ago, Melior was invaded by Daein and ransacked. Crimea is at war.”

Stunned silence fell over the room. Oscar physically blanched; Boyd tightened the strip of cloth around his forehead as if it could tie him in place. Gatrie looked stricken. Shinon looked bored.

Greil nodded at Soren.

“Soren, if you would tell the others what you told me,” he said.

“Of course,” Soren replied. He leaned over the map, sweeping his arm to the clay figure of the drake over Melior. “Crimea’s capital, Melior, is here, and Daein’s forces came up over the mountains and attacked without warning or any semblance of a proper war declaration. I was in the library when the attack happened and fled the city before I could become another casualty.”

“How do you know it was Daein, whelp?” Shinon interrupted. He’d had his arms crossed since taking up position between Gatrie and Boyd, and he made his disdain painfully clear in every drop of acid from his mouth.

“They flew Daein colors, bore Daein armor, and their King was rumored to have been among the invasion force,” Soren replied coolly, looking Shinon in the eye. “I did not linger long enough to verify if that last part was true, but I’d seen enough from my flight from the library to know the rest.”

Shinon huffed under his breath. Titania shook her head slowly.

“How could that be?” she said. “The Crimean Knights are one of the strongest forces in Tellius. If Lord Renning mobilized them, they would defend the capital with the strength of a hundred men!”

“Renning _did_ mobilize the Knights, but not cohesively and far too late to make any difference,” Soren said. “The most they did was add to the chaos and block a few crucial exits from the city. I’d never seen anything on the scale of Daein’s attack—they killed indiscriminately and without mercy. It’s likely they enlisted over half their army for the strike.”

“That is incredibly dangerous,” Oscar said quietly. He traced a path from Daein’s capital across the northeast mountains and down to Melior, one graceful arc with his finger. “If they’d failed, they would have left Daein with a severe lack of troops to defend its own borders.”

“Yet they succeeded,” Greil said.

“Was there provocation?” Titania asked.

“None,” Soren said. “Crimea and Daein have never been on precisely ‘friendly’ terms, but this happened suddenly and without any inkling of attempted negotiations. King Ramon may very well be dead by now.”

Ike took the news in silence. Whatever joy he’d felt at having his friend back had been stilled by the scale of this catastrophe.

_My home is in danger. My family and friends are in danger, here, too._

“What do we do?” he asked hollowly.

“That’s the question of the day, isn’t it,” Greil said.

“We stay out of their way, obviously,” Boyd said. “I’m not getting tangled up in politics—we can just take jobs that don’t involve swearing our allegiance to either side and stay neutral until this whole thing blows over.”

“That’s…simple enough,” Rhys said. He’d gotten squished between the two brothers, and with Oscar in half-plate on one side and Boyd’s broad shoulders on the other the poor healer had been sandwiched like a pressed flower in a book. “But—”

“Simple in _theory_ , you mean,” Shinon said. “Whoever pays us more gets our loyalty. That’s how mercenary work _works_ , right, boss?”

Greil had one hand splayed against the map, listening without speaking. He looked to Titania at his right.

“Crimea is as close as our company has to a homeland,” she said. Her voice always carried conviction, but Ike noticed a sudden sternness to her voice and the way she seemed to direct her comment at Shinon like she was scolding a child. “Money notwithstanding, we’ve lived here for years and received nothing but kindness from its people. The royal family has been more than generous in their ruling and policies; the noble houses and even common layfolk have provided us with countless jobs in the past. From a moral standpoint, I think we should lend our hand to defend the country.”

“You’re joking, right?” Soren said without tempering his bite. “We haven’t pledged ourselves as Crimea’s private militia—we’re mercenaries, and no money has passed into our hands. We have no ‘obligation’ either way.”

“The whelp’s right for once!” Shinon crowed.

“You be quiet,” Soren snapped.

“Then you would have us overrun by Daein without lifting a finger in Crimea’s defense?” Titania said, directing her severity at Soren. “King Ramon is known for his valor and wisdom—you likely left before he could turn the tides! If they could repel the initial assault and turn it into a trial of endurance—”

“The outcome was painfully obvious! Battles hinge on troop number and supplies, and Daein is superior in both. King Ashnard is every bit Lord Renning and King Ramon’s equal, possibly both men combined! You don’t pin bets on a horse with a lamed foot.”

“Easy,” Ike murmured. He stayed his hand before he could forcibly tug Soren back by the hair.

Soren waved his hand like he was shooing a gnat, but he stilled his tongue. Titania rubbed her temples and breathed out slowly to let the redness from arguing fade from her cheeks.

Greil held up a hand to halt any further debate.

“That’s enough, both of you,” he growled. “I’ve heard your opinions. Does anyone _else_ have a point to raise?”

Oscar and Boyd shook their heads; Rhys, squished between them, averted his eyes self-consciously. Shinon had taken out an arrow from the quiver at his hip and was picking his nails with the arrowhead. Gatrie just looked alert like a dog waiting for the order to go fetch.

Greil’s eyes lingered on Ike.

“I… think we should get an idea of the current situation before we act,” Ike said, picking his words carefully like a doe stepping over treacherous rocks. “I want to defend my home, too, but I also don’t want us getting in over our heads before we know what’s actually going on. News doesn’t travel fast without carrier pigeon or horseback, right?”

“Right,” Soren grumbled.

“Then things may have changed since three days ago. I’m saying we wait to side one way or another—or at all—until we have a clearer picture.”

Greil’s eyes sparked with approval, and before Ike had time to unpack that his father continued:

“That’s all voices accounted for, then. Soren, thank you for your report. We may very well be the only people this far from Melior who know what’s happened. I know some risk was involved getting this information to us.”

“It was nothing,” Soren dismissed. Ike tried to nudge him in the side, motioning with his eyebrows, but Soren kept his eyes firmly on the map in front of them and missed the gesture.

“Give yourself some credit,” Ike whispered.

“Later,” Soren whispered back.

Greil rubbed his chin, stone eyes roaming the map. After a few seconds he nodded to himself and turned to address Titania.

“Titania, take the brothers and Rhys and follow the road northeast,” he said. “If Daein has started sending its forces past the capital, we’ll need to know their movements. Pack for five days’ rations and bring a whetstone.”

“Yes, Commander,” said Titania.

“I’ll need to accompany them so they know what to look for,” Soren said. Beside him, Ike tensed.

“You can,” Greil said, “but only after you clean yourself up so you don’t look like a drowned cat.”

“More like a drowned _rat_ ,” Shinon muttered all too audibly.

Without skipping a beat or sparing him a glance, Greil added, “Shinon, with such keen observations, I’ll want you on the scouting party as well. No objections.”

“I—wh— _fine_.”

Shinon glowered, sticking his arrow back into its quiver. Gatrie slapped him between the shoulders agreeably.

“It’ll be good for you!” he said, beaming that gallant smile of his. “Fresh air, maybe some pretty country _flowers_ you can rescue from distress?”

Ike furrowed his brow, trying to work out why someone would rescue flowers that had barely started blooming across the countryside from distress they couldn’t feel, but his father slapped the table with the flat of his hand, commanding silence.

“This is not a drill, nor a game,” Greil said. “I expect you all at peak performance. Daein has made an unprovoked act of aggression against Crimea, backed with the bulk of its country’s military officers. Do not assume complacency. The rest of you that are staying here, I want you to inventory our supplies and scour the nearby area for signs of unrest. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” the company said in unison.

“Dismissed.”

The mercenaries shuffled towards the door with a scuff of boots and a clatter of weapons strapped to their backs and hips, a windstorm of fabric in all shades of the earth and sky. Ike tried to catch a glimpse of Soren, but the black-haired boy had slipped away before he had a chance to continue their conversation. Ike was three paces from the door when his father’s voice stopped him.

“Ike. Stay a moment.”

Ike closed his eyes and stood in place, letting the final few members of the mercenaries pass around him. When Oscar, the last to leave, quietly shut the door behind him, Ike heard Greil sigh low in his chest.

“What am I to do with you, boy?” his father asked.

Ike turned. Greil was leaning over the table, hands splayed and eyes focused on the inked portrait of Crimea. The lanternlight from the corner-mounted torches cast his face in grim shadow. The hard lines of his jaw and the white scars that cut surreptitiously along his cheek and chin were set in relief like carved marks on a statue.

Ike had to pause to take it in.

His father looked _weary_.

Greil straightened, running a hand over his face, his eyes reluctantly leaving the map to look at Ike. Ike instinctively tensed. He had an old iron sword buckled to his hip, and without thinking he rested his hand atop the pommel and stood as tall as he could manage without getting on tip-toes.

“All I wanted was to keep you and your sister safe,” his father murmured. He walked over to Ike and put a broad hand on his shoulder.

Ike didn’t wince. The salve he’d borrowed from Rhys had done its work.

“You haven’t failed in that respect,” Ike said.

Greil shook his head. “Bandits kidnap my daughter and my men’s young brother without my realizing. You risk your station and your life to rescue them. You certainly take after my reckless streak, but I want you to be cautious from now on, understand? I can’t afford to lose either you or Mist.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Not Commander. I’m asking you this as your father.”

Ike swallowed nervously. His father was not a man of idle sentiment, and the weight of his voice hung heavy on Ike’s heart.

“I promise to be careful, Father,” Ike said. “You have my word.”

Greil released Ike’s shoulder and stepped back to look over the map. He knuckled his forehead, shaking his head slightly, and looked at his son again.

“Your suspension is lifted for the time being,” he relented. “But if you step a hair out of line again, I put you in the rear ranks where you can watch from a distance. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any objections?”

“No, sir.”

Greil nodded. “Good. Now gather your things. I need you ready to disembark with the others in one hour.”

It took Ike a moment to follow his father’s train of thought. “I’m going with them?” he asked.

“Of course. I need someone with eyes unclouded by suspicion to help Titania and the others survey the area. You’re still green, son, but you might be able to pick up on clues the others would overlook. If nothing else, I want you to get the experience.”

Ike nodded, refusing to stew on comments of his inexperience. It was simple fact. And if these were Greil’s conditions on lifting his suspension, who was he to complain?

He started for the door, already running through a list of things to find before the group left. _Shoulder guard, Rhys’s salve, extra salt meat—oh, and a roll of parchment for Rhys and Soren, they like to keep notes and it would serve us well if we need to keep a spare tally—_

“Ike.”

Ike looked over his shoulder. His father had taken the clay drake off of Melior and held it carefully in his hand—with his strength, he could easily crush it with barely a few cuts to his own skin, but he replaced it in the box with the other war figures and tipped it on its side.

“Stay alert,” Greil said. “I don’t want to bury any of my men, least of all my own son.”

Ike nodded, keeping his expression neutral.

“I will, Father,” he said.

Greil nodded, and he shed the mantle of father to become Commander once more, chin high and back straight.

“Get moving, then,” he said. “If you have time to dawdle, you have time to work.”

Ike left without another backwards glance. He waited until the briefing room was well behind him before he dared to quicken his pace, letting all manner of nerves and emotion fuel his steps until he was almost running to gather what he needed for the mission. Crimea was threatened.

And Ike would not sit idly by.

***

Greil stood before the map, scanning the ink markings for any hidden secrets among the black. The torchlight flickered, illuminating the rough texture of the parchment like it was under a golden sun. Greil moved, and his shadow moved with him.

_Crimea at war,_ he thought, _and Daein is to blame. Mad King Ashnard is out for blood again it seems._

He leaned one arm onto the table, pressed his knuckles against his forehead, and shut his eyes.

“Elena, keep them safe,” he murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: pls let greil have a moment with his son that isnt right before the black knight cutscene  
> me:  
> me:  
> me: oh wait im a writer i can just Do That  
> \-----
> 
> thanks @ folks leaving kudos! c:


	7. Chapter 7

The north road to Melior was muddy underfoot and windy whenever they crossed over open fields. Clouds passed quickly across the sky, scattering patches of shade and sun like a painter who had forgotten to sober up before setting brush to canvas. Crocuses and other small wildflowers bloomed among the dead grass.

They traveled as quickly as they could with seven people and four horses—Shinon refused to ride double, leaving the others to sort their arrangements between the six of them. Titania had Soren in front of her on her white destrier, Oscar took Boyd despite the latter’s complaints that he hated riding, and Ike was left with Rhys, who was so lightweight on the saddle behind him that Ike had to frequently check over his shoulder to make sure their ginger-haired healer hadn’t fallen off onto the road.

By the time twilight fell, they’d seen no signs of Daein troops. Ike tried to let the thought reassure him, but all he felt was a tense knot in his stomach that even Oscar’s campfire stew couldn’t ease.

 _We’re still too far from Melior to see much,_ he reasoned, helping himself to another serving once the others had taken their fill of food. _I doubt we’ll get a glimpse of what’s really going on until another couple days have passed. I just hope it’s not too dire._

Across the fire, Soren caught his eye and quirked a single eyebrow. Ike minutely shook his own head. Soren shrugged and returned to the book he’d brought along, dog-earing the corner of a page and flipping back to another passage.

Twilight fell through shades of blue to the inky black of night; once they’d finished dinner, Titania kept Boyd from adding more tinder to the fire, letting the flame mellow until it was barely more than deep red embers.

“First watch goes from now until midnight,” Titania said when they were beginning to settle out bedrolls. “Any volunteers before I start assigning shifts without mercy?”

“I’ll do it,” Soren said.

“You just got back to the fort this morning,” Titania said. “Are you sure you aren’t too tired from your travels?”

Soren shook his head.

“Alright, then, I won’t argue. Wake Boyd for the second watch—don’t try and pull an all-nighter this time.”

“Hey, what? Why me?” Boyd complained. He’d been kneeling on the ground to set out his bedroll, but at the mention of his name required for work he sat back on his heels with his bushy brows arced like a mountain peak. The canvas on his bedroll flopped uselessly over his knees.

“Because you were the last person to ready themselves before we set out today,” Titania said smoothly. “Don’t worry, we’ll rotate tomorrow night.”

Boyd dramatically folded himself over his bedroll, pressing his head against the canvas, but he made no audible dispute.

The rest of the mercenaries quickly settled themselves in for the night. Shinon took his things and ascended a nearby tree like a squirrel, disappearing into the branches that, even without leaves, hid his form so well Ike almost forgot he was there.

Ike stretched out on the grass and leaf litter, arms behind his head, staring up at the patches of night sky that peeked through the spindly branches. He waited there for a long while until he was sure everyone else had fallen asleep before he crept carefully around Boyd and Rhys to the edge of camp. They’d decided to spend the night off the road, slightly uphill, in a clearing surrounded by clusters of hemlock and oak trees—too far to be seen immediately from the road but close enough to ride out in the morning or at the first sign of trouble. A few thin pines made for a decent stand of cover along the slope down to the road.

Soren had decided to sit right there on the grass next to one of these thin trees, facing the road with his back to the others. When Ike came up to sit beside him, Soren didn’t startle.

They were quiet for a few minutes. The nighttime air was still brisk, especially this far from the embers, but they had their cloaks and body heat to stave off the chill. Soren leaned slightly to the side, eying the weapon peeking out of the folds of Ike’s red cloak. The light from the embers barely hit it, but it was enough to illuminate the gold pommel.

“That sword looks new,” Soren said quietly.

“Unused, not new,” Ike clarified just as softly. They may be several feet from sleeping bodies, but they kept their voices down out of habit.

Ike partially unsheathed the sword and tilted it to catch what little light he could; tarnished gold filigree flashed along the hilt and crossguard in the curving shapes of ivy and vines. Small black marks dotted in a cluster at the base of the blade, where only a few garnets remained embedded in the metal; the rest had fallen out from age or been pilfered from greed.

“It’s one of the older pieces in the armory, but I don’t think anyone’s wanted to use it in case they messed up the design. It’s a bit over-embellished for my taste, but a sword is a sword—as long as the edge is sharp, that’s what really matters.”

“True enough.”

“Father gave it to me before we left," Ike continued. "Well, Mist did, technically, but she said it was from Father, and then she got all over-excited that we were going to the capital of Crimea without her.”

Soren made a _tsk_ ing noise in the back of his throat. “We aren’t on vacation,” he said.

“That’s what _I_ told her!”

Soren cracked a wry smile; Ike mimicked the gesture and casually brushed his shoulder against Soren’s.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said quietly. “My sister and I really missed you.”

Soren said nothing. He rolled one shoulder in an awkward kind of shrug, leaning his arms over his knees to rest his chin between them. He stared out towards the darkness, red eyes trained on some invisible marker in the distance.

Ike squinted. “You see something?” he whispered.

“No. I’m just thinking.”

“Mm.”

Ten minutes, fifteen, twenty.

“…Why’d you leave, anyway?” Ike asked. “To Melior, I mean.”

Soren paused before speaking, chewing the words over as if they were a tough strip of fruit leather.

“It was a logical pursuit of interest,” he said after a fashion. “The Thistled Reeds have a different range of operations and a wider allowance for research funds. Their clientele were mostly nobles who wanted matters dealt with smoothly and without fuss, and they had access to the Royal Library—and I wanted to investigate aeolian wind-magic scholars to further my own craft. It made sense. And it wasn’t permanent. I assure you, it was not a personal slight to you or to Greil’s management.”

Ike nodded along, letting Soren’s logic settle in his head.

“And what about you?” Soren asked. “Greil finally let you join the company after all those years of insisting.”

“Yeah, and then he suspended me for ‘acting recklessly’ and ‘disobeying direct orders’,” Ike said, rolling his neck so it wouldn’t get stiff. He sighed, being careful to keep the sound low so as not to wake those sleeping around the campsite. “I get it—I acted rashly, and I’ve been nothing but polite to Titania to make up for it. I’ve wanted this for so long. I don’t want to mess it up.”

A pause. It was too early in the season for crickets and other nighttime bugs, but an owl hooted in the trees far to the east, searching for dinner. The grass underneath them rustled as Ike crossed his legs the other way.

“Is it what you imagined?” Soren said quietly.

Ike tried to get a read on his friend’s face, but Soren was still facing the trees across the road, eyes shrouded and chin tucked against his knees. Ike turned away to look at the forest himself.

“Yes and no,” he admitted. “I wanted to be a part of the team, like I was more than just my father’s family who happened to live at the fort. For years it felt like I was a stranger in my own home. But I like the feeling of camaraderie—everyone was so happy for me when Father finally let me join. I just… I don’t think I expected having to kill so much.”

“Killing is a part of the job. I thought you were aware of that.”

“Yeah, but not the weight of it. Taking a life should be something one only does when absolutely necessary, not for the sake of routing an area to make the mayor of a town happy.”

“Is it not necessary to defend the lives of your teammates?” Soren countered. “Is it not necessary to keep innocents from dying at the hands of someone wicked?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then that is reason alone.”

A few strands of dark hair fell across his cheek. Soren brushed them back behind his ear.

“I know you aren’t afraid of your own emotions, Ike,” he said, “but to be a mercenary means taking a life—taking _lives_ —without debating the moral consequences. Your survival versus immediate death. That is what the choice comes down to.”

Ike took a breath to reply, but Soren continued:

“When you wanted to be part of the company, you had this… wistful tone of voice, like it was a grand sentiment and an ideal to strive for.”

“Well, you’re barely a year older than me, and Father had you working for the company when you were only fourteen,” Ike pointed out.

“Because I kept records,” Soren said. “I wasn’t allowed to enter battle despite my aptitude for spellcraft for over a year.” One of his hands had gone to the ground and was plucking at blades of grass. “You’re idealistic, Ike. And being a mercenary is not the sort of job for one with optimism in spades. The last thing I—or Mist, or Greil, or anyone who knows you—would want to see is that idealism squashed. That’s what worried me. Mercenary work, for all Gatrie lauds about its virtues, is dirty work.”

Ike shifted a bit, waiting for Soren to elaborate, but the other boy had said his piece and was back to focusing on the woods. Ike ran his fingers through the grass and let him have his peace. About an hour later, Ike broke the silence one last time.

“Thanks, Soren,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For telling me. I want to be a leader like my father someday, and I want people to tell me what they feel openly and without sugar-coating their words. So, thanks for trusting me enough to tell me what you mean.”

“Mm. The least I could do.”

They spent the rest of the watch shift in comfortable silence. When the moon had broken free of the clouds long enough for Soren to tell the time, he and Ike got up and roused Boyd to take their place, ignoring the other man’s grumbling and returning to their spots around the fire that had now fully gone out.

Rhys turned over in his sleep and accidentally rolled his shoulders free from his blanket. Ike took a moment to replace the woolen cloth before he settled down a few paces away, unbuckling his sword but keeping it within arms’ reach just in case.

Ike lay down with his head on the grass and his cape as a blanket, listening for the sounds of distant Daein troops and hearing nothing more than murmured grunts of his sleeping companions. He closed his eyes and slept untroubled to the cusp of dawn.

***

The battlefield was nothing more than a curved stretch of road flanked on one half by forest and the other by sheer rock face.

It was barely an hour past dawn when the Greil Mercenaries stumbled upon the scene. Gold and rosy pink light filtered through the trees, and a dark shadow arced over half the road from the great outcrop of layered sandstone and arkose jutting out from the hill. Footprints from man and horse alike had churned up the dirt and made the boundaries of the road nearly impossible to see. Scattered nicks along the tree line exposed tan wood underneath the bark, and two arrows with black-fletched shafts stuck out of an unfortunate pine tree.

Whatever blood had soaked the ground, it had only just started to evaporate.

Titania held up a hand and reined in her horse without a word. Slowly, Ike and the others dismounted, letting Titania and Oscar ride to the edge of the carnage to gauge the total damage. Ike kept one hand on the pommel of his sword and his eyes sharp as the blade itself as he and Soren swept along the near side of the road, scanning every hidden shadow for signs of danger. Even Shinon had shut up and focused; he stayed two paces behind Boyd, with Rhys uncomfortably clinging to a glass-topped staff a few paces behind him. Their own horses stood together in a nervous cluster underneath the nearest trees, eying everything on the ground in case it suddenly decided to move.

A songbird trilled nearby. Ike nearly elbowed Soren in the chest with how bad he’d been startled.

After a few tense minutes without a sign of conflict, Titania and Oscar rode back, navigating their horses around the fallen. The horses tossed their heads nervously, ears flickering to catch hidden sounds on the wind.

“No signs of this area under watch,” Titania said lowly, “but that doesn’t mean we’re safe yet. Stay vigilant. Check the bodies for survivors.”

She wheeled her white mare away, letting everyone resume their search. Ike was slow, making sure he never tread on any of the dead—not their flesh, not their clothes, not their weapons lying strewn and partway broken across the scoured road. Soren made no such effort, but he kept his pace slow enough to shadow Ike’s nonetheless.

When it finally felt safe enough to speak, Ike let out his breath long and low.

“This is horrible,” he whispered.

“This is the consequence of war,” Soren murmured beside him. He stepped over a corpse’s arm and tugged the blue scarf around his waist tighter. “This is just like what happened in Melior. Daein attacked like a pack of savage animals and littered bodies in the streets. I’d left before I had the chance to see the final outcome, but I can bet it looked a lot worse than this.” He frowned, pausing to take in the whole scene from cliffside to treeside. “There are an awful _lot_ of bodies, though, especially considering we still have a full day’s travel before we reach Melior…”

Ahead of them, Titania whistled; she’d flagged down Oscar and motioned for him to bring his horse back around. Ike and Soren regrouped with them along with the others.

“Oscar, how are things over there?” Titania asked.

“Not good,” Oscar replied. He patted his horse on its neck, keeping the animal from spooking. “No survivors. I couldn’t find a single person still breathing among the fallen.”

He’d lowered his voice almost subconsciously; Ike caught himself physically leaning closer to Oscar’s horse to hear the man better.

Titania shook her head and hung her axe in the holster on her saddle. Behind her, Shinon was bent over one of the dead men, rummaging around the bloodied clothes.

“Shinon, loot the dead on your own time,” Soren sniped.

Shinon held his hands up innocently, fingers splayed, though he had a coinpurse pinned to his palm with one of his thumbs. He pocketed the money with a smug look and went back to prodding corpses with his foot. His boot connected with a black metal helmet with a dull _clang._

“Most of the dead seem to be wearing Daein armor,” Rhys said.

“That’s good, right?” Boyd said. He planted his axe blade-down into the dirt, leaning his elbow on the handle. “That means we’re winning! Hah, take that, you wyvern-riding losers!”

“Boyd, keep your voice down,” Oscar said.

“Why? No one’s around but us and these dead bodies, and I _know_ they can’t hear us.”

“Because there’s still the possibility that we _could_ be stumbled upon and overhead.”

“Then ride out and see! You know I hate playing stealth games, sheesh!”

Oscar sighed from the saddle. Even his horse was doing its best not to listen to Boyd.

Ike glanced beside him; Soren had a hand over his mouth, brow furrowed and eyes narrow as he stared at a mundane spot in the ground.

“…I know that look,” Ike said with a sinking feeling in his chest. “What is it.”

“It’s true that statistically more Daein are dead here than Crimean,” Soren said slowly, “but those with Crimean armor are of the Imperial Guard. I only saw them in passing whenever the King or his brother was making their rounds among the castle grounds.”

He walked past Ike and crouched down next to a body in burnished gold-and-orange armor. Carefully Soren traced the gold-filled pattern around the edges of a shoulder pauldron.

“These motifs resemble the flowers on the Crimean flag,” he explained. “They’re only allowed on armor for the Imperial Guard, which means that someone with sufficient status—one of the royal family, surely—must have been traveling down this way when they were attacked.”

“Lord Renning?” Rhys asked.

“No. He would never leave the Crimean army’s command,” Titania said. “He is a valiant man, and if the knights still drew breath he would lead them to victory.”

Soren rolled his eyes, straightening and dusting off his robes before returning to Ike’s side.

“Then… maybe someone else in the court,” Rhys mused, clutching the staff in his hands like a lifeline. “But I didn’t see anyone who looked like a civilian…”

“Nor did we, I’m afraid,” Titania said. “Ike?”

“No one.”

 _Daein overtakes Crimea, leaving no survivors among the two of them,_ Ike went over in his head. _There’re members of the Imperial Guard, but no civilians among the dead…but if they were escorting someone from the court, it doesn’t make sense that they’d abandon their charge…_

“Ah, shit—! We’ve got company!” Shinon called, suddenly springing to the treeline to yank the arrows out of one of the trees.

Titania whirled her horse around in time with Oscar, scattering dirt under their horses’ hooves and forcing everyone on foot to scramble out of the way. Rhys hovered behind Ike, keeping his distance along with Soren.

A patrol of soldiers all in Daein black were emerging from the road past the trees. Most were on foot, marching with stoic expressions beneath their helms, but a handful in front were all mounted on brown and black horses with the Daein crest embroidered onto their saddle blankets. The foremost, a man with a blunt chin and greasy mid-green hair swept over the top of his head to hide a bald spot, tugged sharply on the reins of his horse. His eyes narrowed to suspicious slits when he caught sight of the Greil Mercenaries spread along the road. Raising a hand to stop his troops, the Daein captain threw back his shoulders and his voice loud enough to startle mourning doves from the nearby branches.

“You there!” he cried. “Who are you? Nevermind—whatever you’re doing, I must _insist_ you cease at once, in the glorious name of Daein, you… you Crimean curs!”

“Surely he can’t be addressing _us_ ,” Soren muttered under his breath. Ike silently willed him to keep quiet, but that was about as useful as a fish declaring it would learn how to climb trees.

Titania nudged her white destrier forward a few paces, its hooves crunching on the raw dirt. She raised her chin towards the captain in as neutral a greeting as she could manage.

“We’re traders coming along the road to Melior,” she said calmly. “We heard there was a disturbance and wanted to make sure our suppliers were unharmed so we could continue our business as usual—”

“Hah! As if I’d believe that!” the man interrupted. He tightened his grip on the reins of his horse, making the animal dance from foreleg to foreleg in its nervousness. “Heed me, Crimean scum—I, Captain Maijin, am instructed to eliminate any rogue Crimeans along this stretch of the thoroughfare! Drop your weapons and surrender immediately! And I do mean _immediately!”_

“Has this man _ever_ been in charge of a verbal missive before?” Soren mumbled. Ike gently nudged Soren’s foot with his own, keeping his focus on this Maijin fellow. Soren snorted derisively.

“Listen, you imbecile,” Shinon drawled from the treeline, dangerously close to the brunt of the troops, “we’re not your problem, alright? Why don’t you go back to the mud pit you all crawled out of and leave us alone.”

“Not going to cooperate, eh?” Maijin said. “Typical!” He flapped his hand at his patrol like he was shaking off a gnat. “Move in! Kill them all! Leave no one alive, or the General will have my head on a spike, you understand?”

As one, the wave of black and gold marched, blades bristling.

Ike tensed, immediately falling into his father’s sword stance. He stared straight ahead, counting the heads of those soldiers approaching him, Soren, and Rhys down the middle of the road.

“Both of you, stay behind me,” he said lowly. “Rhys especially. I know for a fact you don’t know how to use that staff to defend yourself if it came down to it, so please stay out of these guys’ reach. I’ll keep them back.”

Ike leveled the regal-looking sword in his hands at the pack of Daeins. Titania and Oscar were already fighting, and Shinon neatly picked off an enemy archer before they had a chance to draw. Boyd ran straight for the bulkiest soldier in the line bellowing so loudly he managed to scare off anyone else from intervening. The clang of his axe against the man’s armor rang like a bell across an empty churchyard.

“I—I don’t know,” Rhys said, his grip white-knuckled on his staff, “there’s, ah, quite a lot of them, don’t you think?”

“There’s only twenty,” Soren said. He reached up and patted Rhys on the shoulder in a facsimile of comfort. “You’ll be _fine_.”

Rhys only pressed his lips together in a high-pitched hum.

“Get back, now!” Ike said.

He shifted his weight, leaning slightly to one side as the first Daein was upon him. The soldier swung their lance in an arc, aiming for Ike’s legs, but Ike ducked and pivoted on one foot to strike them in the ribs. In a flash of steel the soldier was down and did not stir.

Ike swallowed. _Think about it later,_ he thought, suppressing the twang of heartbreak that plucked at him every time he drew the life from another person. _Remember the dead, but don’t let them become ghosts. Focus. Focus!_

A razor-sharp gust of wind whipped past Ike’s cheek.

Over his shoulder, he saw that Soren had a green-backed book balanced in one hand, the other poised like a conductor leading a choir. The page he’d cast from had ripped itself to shreds; Soren brushed the paper scraps away and flipped to a new page with the same diagram and inscription, tracing the lines with one delicate finger as if verifying the shape was the same.

 _I’ll have to ask him how he does that,_ Ike thought right as an arrow caught him in the shin and made him yelp with sudden pain.

Another sharp gust of wind. The offending archer fell to the ground, a slash across his chest oozing red.

“Thanks for that,” Ike said, grimacing.

“Please try not to get yourself killed,” Soren replied, shredding another page in his spellbook. He whispered a melodic-sounding phrase and sent another spell racing at a soldier about to spear Oscar from the saddle. “If you’re that curious about magic, I can show you when we _aren’t_ in the middle of a fight.”

“Noted,” Ike said. He yanked the arrow out with a wince—thankfully the Daein arrowheads weren’t barbed like some of the bandit troupes who caused trouble in the countryside—but it still hurt. Shoving the pain away, Ike relaxed into Greil’s stance and parried the axe blow of the next soldier to charge him.

Titania and Oscar had driven most of the foot soldiers towards Boyd, who was readily butting heads with anyone in black-and-gold armor and leaving blood and broken metal in a trail behind him. Shinon, from his perch in a tree, was picking off unfortunate Daeins who failed to look up. What used to be a decent assembly had dwindled to barely six soldiers still standing—the two remaining on horseback kept cantering out of Oscar’s reach, unwilling to close the distance.

Seeing his troops so easily scattered, Maijin yanked on his horse’s reins, forcing the animal to rear. As Ike dispatched the man in front of him, Maijin caught his eye and brandished his lance like he was about to charge.

“You’re nothing but a group of rabble sellswords!” the captain cried. “How dare you oppose the might of Daein like this?”

“You attacked us without provocation!” Ike countered. “Is this how the Daein army behaves? You simply attack anyone you suspect of being an enemy without hearing their case or letting them pass without consequence?”

“How it _behaves?_ It’s how the Daein army _survives_ , you ignorant brat!”

Maijin kicked his heels to his horse’s flank when a sudden gust of wind knocked him to one side; he teetered out of the saddle with an undignified shout, pulled down by his own momentum. His horse shied the moment Maijin was free from the stirrups and cantered towards the outcrop along the hill.

Maijin picked himself up off the ground, swiping a hand across his chin and smearing the trail of blood that trailed from his split lip. Soren had come forward enough to stand just behind Ike’s shoulder, a fresh page in his book already primed to cast.

“Oh, you’ve got yourself a little mage, eh?” Maijin said. “And a Crimean Royal Knight, from the way she fights… what manner of ‘traders’ are you? You should have been subjugated long before you had the chance to band together!”

“You forced this combat,” Soren said plainly. “If you’re only now seeing the consequence of your actions, you truly are more idiotic than we’ve given you credit for.”

“You—you won’t live to regret sassing me, boy!” Maijin shouted as he rushed them.

Ike parried the blow by swinging his sword against the lance’s wooden shaft. He ignored the slice of pain across his upper arm—Maijin’s lance lacked any nicks or blemishes, almost like the blade was purely decorative, but it certainly cut as sharp as any properly maintained weapon. Shoving his shoulder against the man’s chest, Ike knocked him off-balance and swept underhand, catching him deeply across the side.

Soren whispered something to the wind and let the spell rip one of the pages in his book to pieces as it slashed Maijin across the throat.

Maijin fell, blood burbling over his throat to soak the ground, and stared glassy-eyed at the open sky.

Ike forced himself not to turn away. After giving himself a moment’s rest, he raised a hand and waved down Titania. As she rode closer, the two Daein men on horses suddenly wheeled their mounts away, kicking them into a gallop. Dirt churned under the animals’ hooves as they fled the scene.

“Hey!” Shinon barked from his perch in the trees.

He sent an arrow flying and knocked one soldier from the saddle, but the other, fueled now by pure fear, pelted down the road and was out of range and out of sight before Shinon had a chance to shoot again. Shinon scowled, shoving the arrow back into the quiver at his hip.

“Want me to hunt him down?” he asked Titania.

“No,” Titania said. “Even if you took a horse to give chase, you’d wind the animal and possibly have nothing to show. We can’t waste our resources like that.”

Shinon swung down from the tree, landing with a soft thump. As soon as Titania’s back was turned, he bent and started picking through the dead soldiers’ pockets.

“Did anyone else flee?” Ike asked. “Any casualties among us?”

“No, and no,” Titania said. “Oscar and Boyd are checking the road towards the cliff, but if the sounds of a battle haven’t drawn Daein reinforcements by now, we’re likely clear.”

Soren shook out the remaining paper shreds from his book and clapped it shut, returning it to the leather sleeve at his hip. Rhys came up to them, the glass top of his staff so polished it reflected the early morning sunlight like a mirror.

“Ike, let me see your wounds,” he said.

“There’s no need. I’ll bandage them myself before we leave—go tend to the others first.”

Rhys bowed his head and obliged, but not without a look of open concern Ike’s way. Ike sighed. He did hurt, but it could wait until he was sure everyone else was taken care of.

“That’s not the wisest decision you could’ve made, you know,” Soren said, folding his arms. “The health of a leader depends on them actually _accepting_ treatment when they’re injured.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle. Like I said, I’ll make sure to bandage them before we go.”

Soren _tsk_ ed, surveying the road and all the new marks of battle scarring the dirt.

“If a Daein patrol is already this far south,” he said, “there’s no sense continuing to Melior. We’ll likely only get ourselves deeper entrenched in this.”

“I agree,” Ike said. “We need to go back and tell the Commander what happened before we stumble into another group of hostile Daeins.”

Soren nodded, and was about to relay that to Titania—approaching on her horse—when a shout from the woods drew his and Ike’s attention.

“I—oh, goodness!”

Ike and Soren whirled towards the noise—Rhys in his white-and-sky-blue robes was easy to pick out of the browns of the trees in the nearby woods, where he was standing almost petrified in place, both hands at his chest, staff pressed by his elbow against his side.

“What is it, Rhys?” Titania said, dismounting at once. Even Boyd and Oscar had perked up at the sound and were coming closer to investigate. Shinon spared the commotion no concern and pilfered a rather nice-looking pocketknife.

“I—I was going to retrieve my herbs from the saddlebags—our horses had shied into the woods,” Rhys explained in a stammer, refusing to move from his spot, “but, ah—there’s a person here!”

“In the _bushes?_ ” Soren asked.

Ike pushed his way through the underbrush, holding the branches aside for Soren and Titania behind him until they were close to Rhys. Titania gasped softly.

Lying on fall’s forgotten leaves, like a figure from a painting, was a young woman with dried blood caked in her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i always thought it odd that soren, who is this fiercely loyal character, would have gone to work with a different merc group for months before the start of the game, so i gave him an explanation that i thought made sense since he's also very pragmatic and logical
> 
> thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

“I…I almost _stepped_ on her!” Rhys said, wide-eyed.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t,” Ike said, coming over to investigate. All traces of distress from the battle a few short minutes ago had been replaced with open, furrowed-brow concern.

Soren crossed his arms and blew a strand of black hair out of his face. This was a waste of time.

The girl in question was hardly older than he or Ike—seventeen, eighteen at the most, given the youthful contour of her heart-shaped face and the slightness of her frame. Her long, forest-green hair lay in tangled tresses over the ground and had picked up errant leaves from her fall. A bit of dried blood was caked into the hair by the back of her head, but it was old, and no obvious wounds were making matters worse. Rhys had finally released his strained grip on his staff and was checking the girl for signs of life, two fingers pressed gently under the curve of her jaw.

Soren frowned. The girl’s clothes were well-made, but no one with half a brain would consider hiking the Crimean countryside in a long dress that could catch on just about anything.

 _She’s nobility, must have been traveling with the Crimean escort, and has no common sense,_ Soren decided.

Rhys’s shoulders relaxed, and a soft sigh escaped his chest.

“She’s merely unconscious,” he said. “Her pulse is strong, but she’s been hit with a blunt instrument—she most likely has a concussion and passed out from trauma. No other signs of injury or struggle. I wonder if she was hit trying to flee that first battle that had happened out on the road…”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Soren. “We’ve got other business. Leave her.”

“Soren,” Ike chastised.

“She’d be nothing but dead weight, and I’d bet you ten coins that she’s who those Daein troops were looking for. No armor, impractical clothing, and traveling with an entourage of the Imperial Guard? She’s certainly from the court, if nothing else, and that only spells trouble.”

Ike frowned at him and bent next to Rhys, studying the girl with a pensive expression.

“I don’t feel right just leaving her here,” Ike said quietly. “We could be the only people passing through for the next several hours—or days, even. If we’re turning around to head to the fort anyway, I’m bringing her with us.”

“Do as you please,” Soren said, throwing his hands in the air and turning his back. “But if this turns out to be a huge mistake and comes back to bite us, don’t blame me for warning you.”

Soren walked away without waiting for a reply, but behind him he could hear Ike and Rhys shuffle to presumably get the girl into a decent carrying hold.

“I—oof, give me a hand, Rhys?”

“Oh! Yes, of course—”

Soren waited in the road for the two of them to catch up. Titania had followed him out of the woods and was frowning at him in one of her typical ‘you’re acting like a brat but chastising you right now won’t help things, so I’m saving this for later’ looks—pressed lips, a slight crinkle at the corner of her eyes, and the assurance of a sharp tongue the moment she had the opportunity to speak.

 _Talk my ear off about sympathy all you like,_ Soren thought, arcing a cool brow at Titania. _I still think we’re making a terrible decision._

“Hey, guys! Guys! I found a horse!”

Boyd waved energetically at the two of them as he tugged a dark gray destrier along by the reins. Oscar had rounded up the other horses the mercenaries had brought with them, and seeing his younger brother with a new addition made him slowly shake his head. In the background, Shinon had finished looting one side of the road and was making his way along the other side, pilfering as he went. His pockets audibly jingled even from a fair distance away.

“Check it out!” Boyd said with a grin. “I think this one belonged to that annoying captain what’s-his-name—I’m gonna name him Coal, because that’s what his coat looks like. I bet he’s fast!”

“I thought you didn’t like riding?” Oscar said.

“Oh, I meant I don’t like riding with _you_ ,” Boyd said. “Minor difference there, brother of mine.”

“Hey, guys, can someone bring a horse around before we drop her on accident?” Ike said, emerging from the woods with Rhys, the green-haired girl balanced between them. Rhys’s arms were shaking.

At once, Oscar whistled a two-tone call and caught the reins of a slender-legged bay, holding it still so Ike and Rhys could carefully put the unconscious girl on the saddle.

“What happened to her?” Oscar asked. “We heard a commotion but didn’t want to crowd you—is she okay?”

“She’s cute,” Shinon added, pockets jingling.

“She’s alive and not in immediate danger,” Rhys said. “Minor head injury, but no other wounds. If she fled from the battle, it’s likely someone knocked her unconscious and left her behind intending to… to finish the job.” Rhys gulped. “But it seems her assailant never got that chance. Work of the Goddess, if you will.”

Soren rolled his eyes. Ashera didn’t care about anyone or anything, but trying to convince a priest of that was like trying to convince an ant that it was actually a tree.

“Everybody, get your things together,” Ike said, mounting the bay horse. With Oscar’s help, he kept his arms carefully around the girl’s waist to keep her from falling, trying not to touch her more than what was necessary for her safety. “We’re heading back to the fort.”

“Finally,” Shinon muttered, shoving past Soren to get to the other horses.

Soren fidgeted, studying the landscape as everyone else mounted in order to check for any last signs of distress. Bodies on the dirt. Sunlight streaming through the trees.

As Ike rode slowly by, Soren reached up and tugged on his red cape. Ike reined to a stop.

“What is it?” Ike asked.

“We…shouldn’t get involved in matters that don’t concern us,” Soren said. “Daein and Crimea are at war, remember? We may have accidentally chosen a side without realizing when that is _exactly_ the thing we were trying to _avoid_.”

“Be that as it may, I don’t think I could live with myself if I willingly abandoned her,” Ike said. “I know mercenary work is dirty work, Soren. And I can’t save everyone. But I can at least save some people. I have to try, anyway.”

Soren stepped back, letting his friend ride to the front of their impromptu convoy. He sighed lowly, shaking his head.

“Come on, Soren,” Titania interrupted. “You’re riding back with me. You’re not walking home by yourself again.”

Titania was already in the saddle, one hand on the side of her white destrier’s sturdy neck. Soren relented; there was no use arguing a mass decision like this. The sooner they left, the sooner they could make a new strategy.

He tried to climb up on his own, but Titania easily lifted him by the scruff of his shirt and set him in front of her like a slightly more dignified sack of flour. As soon as he had a grip on the saddle, Titania clicked her tongue and kicked her horse to a trot to catch up with the others. Soren cast a suspicious look at the churned-up road behind them and all the bodies they hadn’t buried.

 _…I don’t like this,_ he thought, and like clouds bearing rain that sentiment condensed in his head the whole ride back to the fort.

***

A day later, Mist was out in the front yard pulling weeds when she saw her brother and the company crest the hill. Leaping to her feet, Mist accidentally kicked over her basket and spilled the dirt-covered weeds she’d already pulled across the path, racing to greet her family.

“You’re back, you’re back!” she exclaimed. “How was it? What’s the weather like? Any last snowstorms before we can call it spring for real?”

Ike had to tug quickly on the reins of his horse to get it to stop—the last thing anyone wanted was a trampled sister—and Mist caught a glimpse of a limp young woman with long green hair resting in front of him in the saddle.

“Who is that?” Mist gasped.

“Is Father home?” Ike asked instead of answering. Gingerly he unhooked his feet from the stirrups and swung a leg over to get down, keeping the young woman balanced until he could securely lift her off the saddle with both arms.

Mist peered over to inspect the newcomer. It wasn’t often that strangers came to the mercenary fort, let alone anyone unconscious, let alone another woman young enough for Mist to play with.

“He just got back from patrolling with Gatrie,” Mist said, casting an uncertain look at the side door leading to the family kitchen. “He might be in the kitchen, still, but I can run and look for him if you want?”

“That’d be great. We have a lot to report…”

By now, the other members of the company were reining in and dismounting in the yard. Soren nearly toppled to the ground in his haste to get down from the saddle without Titania’s help; Oscar was already gathering the reins of all their horses to bring them to the stable to deal with tack and currying. Rhys had come over to Ike to help him carry the girl between them.

Shinon had slipped away without Mist realizing, but in the clearing just outside the archery range, she caught him handing Rolf a small pouch that made the boy’s eyes grow wide with glee.

“Did you bring me anything from Melior?” Mist asked, following Ike on his way to the kitchen entrance.

“I—no, Mist, we never even made it to the city,” Ike said with a grunt as he adjusted his hold on the girl. Rhys waited until she was secure before they continued walking.

“…Is she okay?” Mist said. “She’s awfully pale…”

“I’ll need to use another healing spell now that I have access to my other staves,” Rhys said softly, his arms rigid to keep them from shaking under the weight, “but she’s going to be all right. She’s just been in and out of sleep for the past day. She woke briefly last night and managed to drink some water and have a bite of hard tack before sleeping again; she’s exhausted.”

Mist pursed her lips, looking at the girl’s sweet sleeping face.

“What’s her name?” Mist asked.

“We don’t know,” Ike sighed. “Rhys was the only one who saw her awake, and she was too tired to talk much.”

“She _did_ tell us ‘thank you’,” Rhys said, “so I know we did the right thing.”

Suddenly, the door to the small family kitchen swung open, and Greil stood on the threshold with one hand on the handle of his axe. His chin was half-shaved and sported a tiny red nick where a razor blade had presumably caught him moments before. Greil cast one swift look across the lot of them and settled his eyes on Ike.

“What happened,” he demanded.

“We found this young woman passed out on the side of the road,” Ike said, “and brought her back with us to have Rhys properly treat her injury. I can explain what happened once we find her a bed to rest in.”

Her father’s eyes were unreadable, but Mist knew that stance—the tilt of Greil’s shoulders and the way his weight shifted to the back of his feet, like he was preparing to either give a speech or blow down a house of cards.

“Bring her inside,” he said, stepping aside to free the doorway. “Rhys, she’s in your care for now. When she wakes, let me and Ike know immediately.”

“Understood, Commander,” Rhys said.

Mist tapped her foot; it was like the three men had all but forgotten she was there, even as she squeezed past her father into the kitchen and followed Ike and Rhys all the way down to the healer’s ward. She had to crane her neck to peek over her brother’s shoulder as they walked.

Ike and Rhys lay the young woman carefully on the empty cot in the corner of the room; as soon as his hands left her, Ike stepped back like he was afraid she’d turn into a cat and strike him. Mist rolled her eyes. Boys were so weird.

Rhys puttered around the room, tapping his chin thoughtfully as he grabbed a bronze staff with a glass ball on the top that shimmered red and pale pink when he waved his hand over it. He set it on the cot beside the girl and went to a long wooden table, flipped through a book, and pulled down a few bottles of dried herbs from the shelf above it.

Ike awkwardly stood next to Mist. “If you’re all settled, Rhys, should we leave you?” he asked.

“Hm? Oh, yes, I’ll be fine,” Rhys said, checking the color of a tincture in the light coming through the window. “If you wouldn’t mind sending Oscar down with a bowl of whatever he’s making for dinner, that would be lovely.”

“Sure thing.”

Ike tapped Mist on the shoulder and motioned his head at the door, but Mist bit her lip, looking back at the sleeping girl.

“Can I help?” Mist asked Rhys.

Ike frowned. “Mist—”

“I promise I won’t get in the way! Right, Rhys? Aren’t I good about following directions and staying out of trouble?”

Rhys’s cheeks flushed as he looked between her and Ike. “I, ah, you’re certainly the most diligent assistant I’ve worked with,” he said carefully, “but I don’t want to take you away from any other duties your father or brother want your help with.”

Ike scratched the back of his neck; Mist had the urge to yank on the tails of that silly cloth headband he wore just to make him agree, but she kept her hands by her side, running her fingers along the folds of her skirt.

“Please, Ike?” she asked.

Ike quirked a brow at her in amusement, but he didn’t object any further.

“Alright,” he said, “but if Father catches you staying up too late, he won’t be happy. I’ll see you at dinner.”

He leaned over and ruffled her hair; Mist tried to smack him, but Ike easily dodged on his way out. Mist stuck her tongue out at his back.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Rhys chuckled softly under his breath.

“You two are close,” he said.

“It’s infuriating sometimes,” Mist said. She smoothed out the folds of her skirt, trying not to look as bothered as she felt. “I’m two years younger than him, but he still treats me like a kid!”

“Well, to be fair, you _are_ technically—”

“Rhys, please! I need you on my side!”

Rhys waved a hand for Mist to continue and sat on the edge of the cot. His face was still just as soft and patient as if he was waiting for tea to steep. Mist sighed.

“I feel like everyone ignores me,” she said, looking at the grainy texture of the flat stones along the floor. “Rolf and I are never invited along on missions, we’re kept away from important meetings, and the only time we ever had anything exciting happen to us we were _kidnapped_ just so some jerk bandits could fight Titania!”

Her fingers tensed, balling up some of the fabric of her skirt in her small hands. It had been frightening, certainly, but with Rolf’s optimism at her side and the distant but familiar sounds of Titania, Ike, and Boyd making their way to the rescue, Mist had staved off hopelessness for days—at least until this whole Daein business had started. Being stuck at the fort with Rolf doing chores was hardly her idea of a meaningful contribution.

“I couldn’t do anything,” she said, still looking at the floor. “I can’t even hold a sword right—I can’t pull back a bowstring, I’m not strong enough to lift an axe or one of Oscar’s big cavalry lances, all I do is just sit around and do housework while everyone else is off doing important heroic deeds! And now that my brother is part of the company, it’s like he’s too busy to play anymore. I…I want to be useful, Rhys. It’s the least I can do for my family.”

From his perch on the cot, Rhys waited for Mist to speak, but now that she’d gotten that weight off her chest she’d fallen silent and picked another spot in the room to focus on. Rhys folded his hands over his lap. When he spoke, his voice was gentle as a sparrow.

“I think you’re incredibly valued,” he said. “Your brother and your father are strong-willed in different ways, and that often means they get so focused in their own heads that they forget to appreciate what’s around them. Mist, just because you cannot wield a weapon, it does not mean you’re useless.” Rhys laughed softly, gesturing at his chest. “Look at me, for instance! I’ve wanted to be a swordsman my whole life, but I’m too physically weak to pick up a blade, let alone stay healthy long enough to train with it. But I’ve learned how to heal and mix medicines. Not everyone has to fight to contribute to their community.”

Mist grumbled, coming over to sit beside Rhys on the edge of the cot. Rhys put a hand on her shoulder.

“Your brother and father love you dearly,” he said quietly. “They only want to protect you—but they should listen to you, too. Have a candid conversation with them about how you feel. Can you do that?”

“I guess,” Mist admitted.

“That’s a step, then,” Rhys said. “In the meantime, since you’re here, would learning basic medicine make you feel better?”

Mist leapt off the cot, guiltily biting her lip when she realized she’d jostled Rhys and the sleeping girl—but her enthusiasm washed out any former self-doubt and irritation like floodwater over a dam.

“Really?” she said. “You’ll teach me?”

“Basics, at least—I’m not sure what your inherent magic is like, so staves for now are out of the question, but I can show you common remedies.”

“Yes! I’d love to! Ooh—can I help you treat this new stranger? I’ll be the best assistant ever, I promise!”

“Of course,” Rhys said. “Now, could you fetch me the small mortar and pestle from the second shelf and a roll of clean linens? I’m going to teach you how to make a chamomile compress.”

“On it!”

Mist followed Rhys’s patient instructions for hours, leaving only to swipe biscuits from the kitchen when her stomach growled so loudly she thought a cat had gotten into the healer’s ward. By the time the sky had faded to a rich amber color streaked with gray clouds, Mist’s hands were stained with leaf juices and the pigment from crushed berries, but a few clay pots had been filled with the ointments she’d made all by herself. She got up from the stool she’d dragged over next to the cot and stretched with a grimace.

“I told my brother I’d be at dinner,” Mist said reluctantly, “but I’ll bring you back some food, okay, Rhys?”

“Mhm. Tell them not to worry; our guest is stable and should come around soon.”

“You better come get me the moment she’s awake!”

Rhys chuckled. “I’ll come running, don’t you worry.”

He waved her along, and Mist hurriedly washed her hands in the family kitchen before making her way towards the mess hall. Drying her hands on her skirt, she breathed in the rich smell of fresh soup and roasted vegetables with a wistful sigh.

 _Just you wait, Brother,_ she thought, chin held high as she marched towards the double doors, _I’m going to prove myself to Father and the company, just like you!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lack of a mist & rhys support is criminal so im here to Embellish


	9. Chapter 9

Dinner had come and gone before any news of their guest’s condition reached Ike’s ears. He was in the study reading one of Soren’s books, sword belt leaning against the chair, when Mist came barreling in and startled him badly enough to almost drop the book on the floor.

“Brother!” she exclaimed. “The lady you rescued, she’s awake, she’s awake!”

“Really?” Ike said. He stood at once, folding the book neatly on a side table to keep it far from any errant elbows that could knock it down. “That’s great news—where’s Father, didn’t he want to be notified too?”

“I already told him—he said to fetch you as well and meet him in the healer’s ward. Come on! She’s so pretty, Brother; her voice is like a song!”

_I find that a little doubtful,_ Ike thought as he followed his sister around the fort’s lantern-lit bends and halls. _But, then again, a lot has happened these past few days… maybe someone speaking in song really isn’t that far-fetched._

Now that it was past dinner into the early throes of evening, everyone had more or less retired to their own business—Shinon and Gatrie were loudly playing cards in the briefing room with Boyd, Oscar and Rolf were cleaning dishes, and Titania had managed to get a hold of Soren long enough to lecture him about the importance of compassion in their line of work. In an hour or so, most of the lanterns would be snuffed, and the fort would rest for another busy day at dawn.

Mist slowed a few feet from the healer’s ward, the doorway of which was open and casting pale yellow light into the stone hall. She entered on tip-toes, and Ike awkwardly shuffled in behind her, knowing full well that the sound of their shoes on the masonry would have announced their presence as surely as ringing a bell a yard away.

Greil was standing to one side of the cot in the corner, his posture lax but his eyes vigilant as he conversed lightly with the young woman in the bed. She had a healthy pallor to her cheeks and was leaning up against a pillow, hands folded neatly around a clay cup of water. Her hair spilled over her shoulders and the blanket across her lap, and her soft brown eyes were like a doe’s.

Rhys, from the table where he’d been mixing another compress, perked up when Ike and Mist entered. Greil caught Ike’s eye and motioned him closer.

“Ah, here’s my son, Ike,” Greil said. “ _He’s_ the one who brought you here, so you can direct your thanks to him instead.”

“Many blessings upon you,” the young woman said, fixing Ike with that open gaze. “I do not know what would have become of me had I not found your goodwill and sanctuary. My lord Ike, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Ike shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “It’s, ah, not necessary,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. Behind him, Mist hid a teasing smile behind her hand. “Just glad you’re okay.”

“I was just making sure our guest was comfortable,” Greil continued. Rhys carefully walked around Greil’s side to sit at a stool beside the cot, handing the woman the compress to place against the back of her head. “Of course, I knew she was in good hands with Rhys here.”

“I do my best,” Rhys said quietly. The young woman took one of Rhys’s hands and pressed it between her own, making him blush.

“You are most kind, my lord Greil,” the woman said.

“Just Greil is fine. And I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a few questions for you now that you’re awake.”

“Of course.” The woman released Rhys’s hand and gave him her cup of water so she could politely lace her fingers together over her lap. “Please, ask anything you like.”

“You were found off the side of the road leading south from Melior, the site of what had apparently been a fierce battle between Daein soldiers and a force of Crimean Imperial Guard. Who are you and what were you doing there?”

The young woman’s lips drew taut in a pained smile, and her knuckles grew white as she clenched her fingers. She swallowed dryly.

Ike cast a fleeting glance at his father before he spoke up. “We can help you,” he told her. “I mean—I make no promises, since I’m not the commander here, but if you’re in trouble and seeking assistance, well, that’s what the Greil Mercenaries do. We help people.”

Greil gave a slight nod and said nothing. Ike winced, feeling his father’s piercing gaze evaluating his own face.

_Overstepped that one,_ Ike thought. _Father will have me stuck washing dishes for a year if I keep acting without thinking like this._

The young woman closed her eyes, murmured something inaudible, and slowly opened them again. She looked between Greil and Ike sadly.

“You were kind to me when you could have left me for dead,” she said plainly. “Very well. I am not one to place my trust idly, and I shall not do so here.” She took a deep breath and tilted her shoulders back. “My name is Elincia Ridell Crimea. I am the sole heir to King Ramon and Queen Ofelia of Crimea.”

The room was silent. Even Mist, who’d been edging her way past Ike to stand next to him instead of being shunted to the back, stifled a gasp. Ike prayed silently that she’d hold her tongue until they were out of Elincia’s earshot.

Greil rubbed his chin, looking Elincia in the eye before turning his attention to Rhys.

“You said she had a concussion, correct?” he asked.

“Y…yes, but I checked her for signs of memory loss before Mist went to fetch you,” Rhys said delicately. “She has a perfectly sound mind. She even recited the first page of _Tenure of the Rose_ verbatim after noticing I had it on my shelves.”

“‘O sweet lilac breeze,’” Elincia quoted in a voice soft as down, “‘thy effigy stands no less beautiful than the blossom at thine heart; for what thy—’”

“Yes, that’s very impressive,” Greil said, holding a hand up to stop her, “but you understand that making a claim to the throne of Crimea requires hard evidence and more than a little good faith. Reciting poetry guarantees nothing more than erudite taste.”

Rhys blushed, but Elincia merely nodded and took Greil’s comment in stride. “Of course,” she said. “But, alas, I have no such evidence. I grew up in a small villa in the Crimean countryside and was forced to abandon my personal belongings when my retinue bid me to escape the Daein invaders. Whatever artifacts I own that have the royal crest embellished on them were left behind.”

“You realize that puts you in a very difficult position,” Greil said.

“Yes.”

“And yet you still offer this information to us?”

“Yes. I have no one else to turn to. My lord Rhys found me, my lord Ike brought me safely here, and you, master Greil, hold sway over a strong group of warriors. I am certain my identity is safe here.”

“I helped take care of you, too!” Mist interjected.

Elincia caught her eye and smiled graciously. “Oh, of course! My lady Mist was more than kind. She even fetched me a cup of water for my parched throat!”

“Yes, Mist is a treasure,” Greil said dryly, “but that’s not relevant to what’s at stake. I’d never heard of King Ramon having any heirs—his brother was named successor twenty years ago.”

At their father’s compliment, Mist beamed; Ike gently nudged her in the side and got a quick stomp on the boot in return. Unfazed, Elincia held her head high.

“That is to be expected,” she said. “I was born a few years after that announcement and raised independently of the capital so as not to induce a scandal. My uncle is a fit ruler in my father’s place. I had no interest in upsetting him and causing Crimea any turmoil.”

“Let’s say we accept your story, then,” Greil said. “For the time being, let’s _say_ you’re the heir of Crimea, and you were kept secret to avoid a possible blood feud. You still have no hard proof, but you have a logical argument. Your retinue ordered you to escape Daein invaders. I would appreciate any details you can share about that.”

Elincia swallowed, tensing her fingers. Rhys handed her the cup of water, but she shook her head, and he reluctantly set it down on the side table.

“My parents are dead,” Elincia said.

“Oh, no,” Mist said, grabbing Ike’s wrist and holding on to it tight. Ike let her cling without complaint.

“King Ashnard of Daein slaughtered them from atop his wyvern,” Elincia went on. “I received word not a day after the deed was done, for the Mad King raised Daein’s flag upon the ramparts and sent soldiers in black out from the capital to hunt down anyone still loyal to the crown. He knew I existed—the highest-ranked royalty across Tellius know of me, in the event of any dire circumstances—and it did not take long for wyvern scouts to find my villa. The Imperial Guard assigned to me ushered me into a carriage and bade us flee to Gallia for safety, but upon the road—”

“—you were attacked by Daein soldiers,” Ike said, “and left for dead by someone who didn’t finish the job.” He paused, unsure what else to say. “I… I’m so sorry.”

Elincia nodded, visibly holding back tears. This time she accepted the water from Rhys and took a long drink, eyes lowered.

Only Greil looked unaffected. His face was carved with perfect neutrality, and he waited with rocklike patience for Elincia to regain her composure enough to speak.

“Why seek Gallia?” he asked.

“I was told, in an emergency, that King Caineghis would grant me asylum,” Elincia said. “He is Gallia’s King and rumored to be a kind but fair man. But without my retinue, I have no hope of reaching there alive, for the journey is another week by horse alone… and my life is paid for in blood from the brave knights who’d accompanied me.” She broke off, dabbing her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. “My lord Rhys told me no one else was found alive. I have to believe my lord uncle and the Royal Knights are still fighting Daein, but I have heard no word of their success…”

Before Greil could respond, Elincia leaned forward, balling the blanket in her lap into her small fists.

“You say you are mercenaries—please, allow me to request your service!” she said. “I have no one else to turn to. You’ve taken me in graciously and lent me your hospitality, so I feel guilt like a knife to my heart, but I beg of you, will you help me reach Gallia? I have no ample funding at my call right now, but I can reward you all handsomely—acres for your company, enough fine cloth for any manner of outfitting, food and new armor and—”

Greil put a hand on Elincia’s shoulder and gently pushed her back against the pillow. She quieted with a peep.

“I make no decision unless I hear my company’s thoughts, especially on a matter this important,” Greil said, not unkindly. “You’ve been through considerable trauma. Rest tonight. I promise we will have your answer in the morning.”

Elincia nodded, fighting back another wave of tears, and Greil patted her on the shoulder before he straightened and made for the door. Catching Ike’s eye, he motioned for him and Mist to come along, leaving Rhys to stay with Elincia and keep her company.

The moment they were relatively out of earshot, Mist swung her arms up—still holding onto Ike’s wrist—and skipped in place.

“She’s a _princess!_ ” Mist exclaimed in a rush. “An honest-to-goodness _princess_ , here, in our own home!”

“I—apparently so,” Ike said, “but please let go of my arm?”

“Ah, sorry!”

“Company meeting, briefing room, now,” Greil said over his shoulder. “I won’t bellow down the halls, so you’d best get your legs in gear and round up anyone you see idling along the way.”

“Me, too?” Mist said.

“You were there for the whole conversation. I see no reason to keep you apart from a discussion this important.”

Mist practically glowed with pride; Ike gently tugged on the shawl around her shoulders to keep her from bolting down the hall to reach the briefing room first.

“Easy,” he said.

Mist stuck out her tongue at him. Ike reached to ruffle her hair but thought better of it, sticking his hands in his breeches pockets instead. Their father had gotten a few long strides ahead of them, but if he turned around and caught them bickering they’d be stuck with unflattering chores for weeks.

Suddenly, Rolf ran pell-mell around the corner, scrambling for purchase before he could slam into the wall. Greil caught the boy by the shoulder and set him straight as Ike and Mist hurried close.

“What have I said before? No running!” Greil told Rolf. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Commander! Oh, thank goodness—hi, Mist, hi Ike!” Rolf said, out of breath but forcing a grin their way nonetheless. His fluffy pale green hair was disheveled, like he’d woken on the wrong side of the bed, and he was still wearing the mismatched belts around his waist and chest like he did whenever he played at being an archer. “There’s trouble! A bunch of soldiers are outside on the road!”

“Shit,” Greil cursed, hastily swiping his palm across his mouth. Rolf’s eyes grew wide, but Greil edged past the boy towards the closest room that looked out to the road—the family kitchen, with its small door and lace-curtained window. Greil unhooked a woodcutter’s axe from above the kitchen counter and peered through the curtain into the rock-studded yard. His eyes hardened.

Shadowing his steps, Ike followed, putting himself between the two younger kids and whatever his father was seeing through the window. Without looking behind him, Greil went to the peg beside the kitchen table and threw his ochre cloak around his shoulders.

“You three,” he ordered. “Stay here. Do _not_ come outside.”

“But—” Ike protested.

“ _Direct_ order.”

Ike stepped back, keeping one arm stretched to the side to keep Mist and Rolf from trying anything sudden.

_Why did I leave my sword in the study?_ Ike thought, kicking himself mentally for being so stupid. _Another mistake that only a green recruit makes… get it together!_

Greil stepped outside, angling his broad frame to leave no gaps for any errant arrows to come through the doorway, and shut it quickly behind him. Ike edged towards the window. The pane was shut tight, but he could still hear the crunch of loose dirt and gravel as an officer on horseback separated themself from the sea of black-armored shadows perched on the road behind them.

“My name is Greil, leader of the Greil Mercenaries—state your business or leave,” Greil called. The sea of armor bristled.

“My name is General Dakova,” shouted the man on horseback. “With me is a platoon of Daein soldiers two score strong. Give us Princess Crimea and leave the area immediately.”

“Or what?” Greil countered. “Usually when someone makes a threat, they like to back it up with even bigger talk.”

“Or we raze your fort to rubble,” Dakova said. “I thought that was implied.”

“Yes, but a man likes to hear the stakes for himself once in a while. Those are your demands?”

“I will not repeat myself. You have five minutes.”

At that, the general wheeled his horse around and trotted back to his soldiers. Ike barely had time to step back from the window before Greil re-entered the kitchen and hung the woodcutter’s axe back on its rack.

“Mist, Rolf, stay with Elincia,” Greil ordered. “You are not to leave her side, understand? And send Rhys to me.”

“Yes, Father,” Mist said.

“Yes, Father,” Rolf said accidentally, straightening like a reed out of embarrassment at the slip. Mist yanked on his skinny elbow and they ran off without another word.

Greil beckoned Ike to his side as he strode for the armory. Ike had to hurry to keep his pace in step, but he refused to let his father see the effort it took.

_Daein is here,_ Ike thought, the implication more grave with every repetition it ran through his head. _They came for Melior and now they’re on my family’s doorstep. They want to throw around threats?_ His hands clenched into fists. _They’ll soon regret it._

“Meeting, mess hall, _now!_ ” Greil bellowed into every staircase and every room they passed. He startled Shinon so badly that he spilled ale over the house of cards Gatrie was building on the table. Ike barely had time to smile; he kept stride with his father all the way to the armory, where Greil hefted a large double-bladed battleax in his arms. Urvan was always a fearful sight to behold—an axe made for fighting, all curved blade and sinew-wrapped handle—and seeing his father handle it effortlessly made Ike feel like a gangly foal in comparison.

“Don’t follow me like a pup,” Greil said. “Get your sword!”

“Ah—right!” Ike said, hurrying out into the hallway without looking where he was going.

He bumped into Soren, who’d already grabbed a green-backed spellbook and his black cloak and was heading for the mess hall. Soren carefully picked off an invisible speck of dust from his sleeves and arced his brow at Ike.

“Daein’s outside,” Ike said.

“I’m aware,” Soren replied. “Them announcing their intentions loud enough to alert the whole field made it very clear what they’re after.” He eyed Ike mischievously. “You’d best get your blade—you’ll have a hard time fending off armored soldiers with your bare fists if they actually attack us.”

“Yep,” Ike said, not bothering to keep the weariness from his voice. “I’m well aware, thanks.”

Soren smirked. He waved Ike along and kept a wide berth around Titania as the two of them joined Shinon and Gatrie entering the mess hall.

Ike grabbed his sword belt from the study and buckled it as he hurried to the meeting, trying to get the clasp to stay and avoid running into a wall at the same time. He caught a glimpse of his father’s cape swirling through the double doors and cursed himself for being late.

_That’s the last time I leave my sword somewhere else_ , he thought, resting his hand on the weighty pommel. _From now on, it stays with me._

Greil had ordered most of the lights in the mess hall to be doused, leaving two candles burning on the long table and casting the open room in eerie, encroaching shadow. One of the two windows along the far wall was open just wide enough to let in a breeze, rustling the linen curtain. Ike could hear the sounds of scraping metal and crunching boots out on the front yard.

He cast a worried glance at the window.

_I have a bad feeling about this,_ Ike thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the only good thing about covid isolation is it theoretically gives me more time to write... when i'm not stuck in deep depression or existential crises lmao
> 
> thank you for kudos and comments they legit make my day  
> stay healthy and safe, i'll try to have another chapter done sooner than later so y'all something to look forward to


	10. Chapter 10

“We have three minutes to make a decision,” Greil said, splaying one hand palm-down on the long table. “The young woman Ike brought back claims to be Princess Crimea, and the Daein forces outside want her in their custody in exchange for not burning down our fort. I know, what a compelling offer, but I’d like to hear your opinions. _Briefly_ , I might add.”

“Daein?” Shinon spat. “How did they— _damn it_ , that stupid runaway from the road, I _knew_ I should’ve gone after him! Blasted idiot probably warned _these_ fools and had them follow our tracks straight here!”

Titania kept one hand on the handle of the axe at her waist, eyeing Shinon with as much of a glare as she could spare. Now wasn’t the time for the alcoholic’s snide remarks—now was the time to _focus_ and act. Spitting insults wouldn’t solve the problem.

She’d taken her usual position at Greil’s right hand, and while the mess hall was an abnormal meeting space for the company, she could see immediately why Greil had chosen it—the hall was one of the longest rooms in the fort, and two arced windows were set along the far wall looking out toward the front yard and the road beyond. If Daein made any sudden movements, they would see and hear it first.

Still, Titania drummed her fingers restlessly against her weapon’s handle. She’d make no move unless Greil sanctioned it first.

“Daein’s presence confirms her identity, at least,” Soren said. He crossed his arms, thin fingers retreating into the folds of his black robes. He was standing near Ike by one of the windows, and despite his best efforts to appear aloof he kept glancing over his shoulder like he was ready to whip out a spell at the first sign of trouble. “They wouldn’t bother keeping up a charade if she were lying.”

“But how did they follow us here without us noticing?” Boyd asked from the other side of the table. “I thought we rode back along a highway, one large enough to spot a squadron on our heels.”

“They took a different route, obviously, and weren’t riding double,” Soren snapped. “The method doesn’t matter—we need to act _now_ before they torch the building and come in to sweep the ashes. I say we comply. Give them what they want and send them on their way.”

Titania noticed Ike shift uncomfortably at that—Greil’s son was as sympathetic as they come, and hearing his best friend so heedlessly offer up another’s life must have grated on him.

“Absolutely not,” Titania said.

She must have spoken louder than intended—Oscar jumped, Soren flinched back, and even Shinon looked marginally more sober. Recovering with a careful cough, Titania continued, “Daein is responsible for this war—ally with them, and we risk the company’s reputation, but if we deliver Princess Crimea safely to Gallia, we’ll have helped someone who direly needed it. Our duty is to help those in need and do good work, not seek valor and fame.”

Titania directed that last line at Gatrie and Shinon at the other end of the table. The two had the decency to look chagrined, at least.

“I just think if we save a beautiful damsel like the Princess,” Gatrie mumbled, blushing even in the dimly-lit hall, “then we’ll be big-time heroes, right?”

“Yeah!” Boyd added. “Saving the day like this? That’s totally hero material!”

“If we hand the princess over to Daein,” said Oscar, “we’re essentially giving them permission to kill her. I say we refuse.”

Titania nodded; Oscar returned the gesture from across the table. She’d always thought of Oscar as one of the Greil Mercenaries’ most capable officers, and in moments like this, hearing Oscar’s opinions mirror her own was like counting on the sun to shine.

“You can’t be serious!” Soren griped. “We’re mercenaries, not noble retinues for hire! No money has changed hands, and since Daein is increasingly likely to win this war, having them in our debt would be a boon later down the line—”

While Soren was talking, Ike’s hand had carefully disappeared behind Soren’s shoulders; Titania saw Soren’s chin snap shut as Ike discreetly tugged on his ponytail.

“I say we help her,” Ike said.

Greil raised an eyebrow at his son, holding his gaze steady, but Ike neither flinched nor looked away.

_He’s learning,_ Titania thought, allowing the briefest moment of pride to warm her chest.

Greil leaned back, hands returning to his side.

“Alright, then,” he said. “That’s our decision. We’re taking the princess to Gallia.”

He held up a hand before Soren and Shinon could object, nodding his chin pointedly at the two windows.

Titania’s skin crawled with unease. Her grip tightened around the handle of her axe, and she began to draw it wordlessly from its holster. Outside, the shuffle of metal and shift of gravel underfoot had given away the Daeins at their doorstep, but now…

Silence.

Ike carefully shifted until he’d angled himself between the slightly-open window and Soren; Boyd grimaced and had a throwing axe already in hand and looked ready to hurl it through the window if it wasn’t for Oscar’s hand on his arm steadying him.

Greil caught Titania’s eyes and nodded grimly. He snapped once to get the others’ attention.

“Shinon, Gatrie, back entryway with me,” he whispered, though the sound was more akin to sandpaper running over granite. “Ike, take the others and hold the front. Titania is your secondary until this is over.”

Ike’s eyebrows shot up for a brief moment before he recovered. “Understood, Commander,” he said lowly. “Be careful.”

“They’ll have a hard time getting through your old man,” Greil said, flashing a wolfish grin.

Titania stepped aside to let Greil pass in a whirl of ochre fabric and steel-eyed nerve; Shinon and Gatrie slipped wordlessly in step behind the Commander and were soon swallowed by the dimly-lit hallway of the fort.

Everyone else waited, watching Ike. In any other circumstance, Titania would have gone over to put a hand on the boy’s shoulder just to steady him—seventeen years old and still prone to reticence like a cat in a stream when suddenly doused with attention—but she stood her ground, waiting like everyone else for the decision of a green commander.

_It’s a test, Ike_ , thought Titania. _Greil wants you to succeed. Just stay level-headed and think clearly._

Ike took a moment to clear his throat before he spoke.

“Both the main door and side kitchen have doors that connect to the front yard,” he said quietly. “They’re close together—only a couple hundred feet between them. Oscar, Boyd, can you take the kitchen? Soren, Titania, and I can keep the bigger entrance covered.”

“Understood,” Oscar said. “Should I fetch Rhys?”

“Please. Tell Mist to take the Princess to the upper storeroom, too.”

Oscar took his leave and only quickened his stride once he was well clear of the mess hall doors. The click-click-click of his boots against the stone floor faded as he ran to the healer’s ward.

Titania brought up the rear once Ike, Boyd, and Soren left the hall to take their positions, slipping her axe free and shutting the mess hall doors behind them. Ike’s red cape flowed behind him like a banner, but Soren was lagging behind him, flipping and dog-earing pages in his book to use for spells the instant he had a target in sight. Soren only looked back once to make sure Titania was following, and even then, he wouldn’t look her directly in the eye.

The main doors of the fort were barred with a long plank of wood on a heavy iron frame, intended to be raised or lowered by a pulley along the entry hall. Ike had already reached it and was examining the door for signs of preemptive attack, leaving Soren and Titania several paces behind.

Titania sighed. She lengthened her stride and caught Soren by the back of his cloak. Soren made a sound halfway between a snarl and a groan and turned around to glare at her.

“What is it now?” he said quietly but with plenty of bite. “Haven’t you berated me enough for one day?” He raised his voice a few pitches, adding mockingly, “‘Compassion is essential when your job relies on the peoples’ favor’, ‘it is a person’s duty to help those around them no matter their social standing’, is that what you want me to admit?”

“Hush,” Titania said. Hearing her own words thrown back at her so carelessly made her want to grit her teeth. “I’m not starting another argument with you. I already said my piece—”

“Yes, a precious hour of my life I’ll never get back; thank you so much for that.”

“Sarcasm only works as a defense in limited supply,” Titania said. She kept her fingers firmly latched in the cloth bundled around Soren’s shoulders; he’d made no move to get away, but she wasn’t about to take any chances. “I need you to promise me you aren’t going to do anything reckless.”

“Like _what?_ ”

“Like rushing into a group of enemies without me or Ike as backup, or trying to challenge the commander in charge of these soldiers just to be ‘efficient’.”

Soren scoffed. “Rushing headlong into the fray is more Boyd’s style,” he said, “and while I _do_ think eliminating the Daein’s commanding officer is the fastest way to end this conflict, I’m not about to forfeit our own Commander’s orders to do so.”

“Good, because—”

“Everything okay back there?” Ike called, keeping his voice low. “I’m going to raise the plank.”

Titania straightened, releasing Soren and setting her shoulders back. The moment he was free, Soren yanked on the folds of his cloak to shake off any ghostly touch she may have left on him and went to stand beside the door.

“Everything is perfectly fine,” Titania said, forcing positivity into her own voice. “We’re waiting for your signal.”

Ike tilted his head, brow knotted with concern.

“It’s fine, Ike,” Soren said. He waved his hand at the pulley, stepping back to give himself ample room to cast once he had an opening.

Ike gave Titania one last meaningful look. She shook her head and hefted her axe in both hands, ready to stop anyone who dared try to break into her home.

Letting out a slow breath, Ike yanked on the chain, and with a creak and a grinding of metal the thick wood plank raised from its bars.

Ike drew his sword. Soren flipped open his book. Titania stepped between them, shoulder to shoulder, axe in hand.

She and Ike pushed open the door together. They spread out in front of it, making sure no one could easily push their way through to gain access. From her peripheral vision, Titania could see Oscar and Boyd by the family kitchen, Rhys pale but standing strong behind them. Distantly, the clang of steel on steel had already begun as Greil, Shinon, and Gatrie were defending the rear.

The evening air was crisp and vaguely humid, and clouds rolled across the sky to blot the moon and stars. Only the periodic gleam of moonlight on the soldiers’ helms and pauldrons marked their positions.

“Get ready,” Ike said lowly.

Daein bristled, leveled their weapons, and advanced in a solemn wave of jet-black metal.

***

When Mist and Rolf came to Elincia’s bedside and urged her to come with them to safety, Elincia at first resisted, citing that she wanted to support those who had graciously offered her protection, but when the first sounds of battle rang through windows across the first floor of the fort, fear pushed all three of them up a broad staircase and into a storeroom in the southeast corner. They’d kept the candles doused and the curtains drawn, but the cloth was so moth-eaten it had left plenty of holes to see through. They may as well have been peering through lace.

Elincia crouched beside one of the two windows, wishing that kind ginger-haired healer had accompanied them to their hiding place. But Rhys had scampered out the door almost as quickly as Mist and Rolf had entered—the poor man looked pale from fear, but despite that he’d grabbed a staff and bundle of medicines and raced for the fight without looking back.

Leaning closer to the sill, Elincia could barely make out Rhys’s cloud-white robes as he darted from person to person, the glass globe on his staff shining in bursts along with his magic.

“Princess, please, get away from the window,” Mist said.

The girl rested her hand on Elincia’s elbow, ready to pull her away before suddenly realizing Elincia’s status and hurriedly withdrawing her hand.

“I—Father told me and Rolf to keep you safe, and that means not letting you stick your head out where the enemy can see it.”

“Yeah!” Rolf chimed in from his sentry position at the other window. “Leave the protecting to us, Your Highness!”

Elincia allowed herself the smallest of pitying smiles at the boy. The instant he’d received his orders from Master Greil, the little green-haired boy had plucked a small yew bow from a secret corner of his bedroom and paraded it over his shoulder like a proper archer. Once he and Mist had brought Elincia to this corner room, Rolf had raced to one of the windows overlooking the yard and sidled up against it, bow at the ready, peering down at the gravel-filled field below.

The effect would have been better had he actually any arrows to nock, or if his posture was properly loose instead of what Elincia assumed was Rolf’s best impersonation of a courtyard statue.

“I will pull back in a moment, my friends, but I must see what your lord father and brother are doing first,” Elincia said.

Mist stifled a snort. “Father is no lord,” she said, nervously eyeing the window. “He just earned his respect from everyone else the old-fashioned way.”

“By being a better fighter and a better man than everyone else!” Rolf said proudly. “Even my brother Boyd listens to him, and he hardly ever takes orders!”

“Rolf, that’s just because _you_ only ever order Boyd around so he’ll get you the sweets off the top shelf of the kitchen!”

“Yeah, because Oscar never lets me have any!”

Elincia stifled a laugh.

“And anyway, Ike’s not a lord, either, and I’m not and no one in the company is,” Mist said, crossing her arms. “We’re all one big family and that’s that.”

She pouted suddenly, sitting down on a crate with rusted hinges.

“We’re a big family, but they keep pushing me and Rolf to the side,” she said. “Father _just_ said I could come to the meeting he was going to call, but as soon as Daein showed up it’s ‘go back inside, Mist’, ‘don’t leave the princess’s side, Mist’, as if I’m no longer important enough to listen to!”

Elincia tilted her head sadly, reluctantly leaning away from the window to come sit beside Mist. The girl’s eyes were trained on the stone floor; her hands clenched the fabric of her skirt in tight folds.

_Oh, my sweet,_ Elincia thought. She gently tapped Mist on the shoulder to get her to look up.

“You know, I think your lord father was giving you the most important job of all,” Elincia said in a mock-whisper.

Mist perked up; even Rolf turned away from his window-watching to catch Elincia’s words. Elincia ran a hand through her long green hair and glanced between the two children with a soft smile on her lips.

“What do you mean?” Mist asked.

“Yeah, how is us hiding in the corner any good?” Rolf said.

“Master Greil must know your hearts so well that he can count your opinions as if you were present at his council,” Elincia said. “You two are so important to him that he’s exempted you from the council in order to give you a truly special job. Where I’m from, I have devout friends who help keep me safe from spies and scourges—and now that I am here, you two have been appointed in their place! You’re like my two valiant protectors, a job Master Greil could entrust to no one else!”

“Wow, really?” Rolf said breathily. His bow slumped off his shoulder and he fumbled it back into place. “You really mean it? We’re your knights in shining armor?”

Elincia giggled. “Well, you’re awfully small, so perhaps you’ll need special armor made to keep you on your feet. A valiant protector does not look quite as stunning when they’re falling over their feet from the weight of their armor.”

“Oh, that’s true,” Rolf said.

“I like the sound of that,” Mist said, smiling shyly. “Hah, I can’t wait to see the look on my brother’s face when I tell him I’m more important than he is!”

Elincia shifted back to her spot at the window, now that she’d gotten the children to stop nervously brooding. Peering through the holes in the curtain, Elincia watched the front yard below, trying to pick out the figures among the sea of black armor and shadow. None of the exterior torches had been lit, leaving the yard growing ever darker as night advanced—but bursts of green light swung sharply against the soldiers, beating them back with whiplike strikes in an arc away from the door.

Two of the company had knocked two Daein cavaliers off their horses and took the mounts for themselves, one with a lance and one with an axe, their horsemanship keeping several other Daeins from breaking the line and storming the fort. A broad-shouldered young man with far too little armor in Elincia’s opinion rushed forward to parry a heavy-armored knight and even managed to shove the offender backwards into a half-formed stone wall. Before the knight could regain his footing, the young man struck down with his axe and severed the helmet from the armored body beneath.

“Nice one, Boyd!” Rolf whispered from his own sentry post, though his face was pale and his eyes were wide.

_His brother,_ Elincia thought, trying to commit it to memory. Memorizing names and faces only worked when one could see the face in question, but Elincia tried with what she had. She watched the green-haired fighter for a few more moments until she was sure she could pick him out in a formal gathering.

Tensely, she picked at her delicate fingernails. _The lean boy in blue—that’s Mist’s brother, lord Ike,_ she added. _And the shadow beside him, goodness, I had no idea magic could strike so fiercely! And that beautiful woman with the long red hair…_

Once or twice, Elincia thought she saw a glint of an arrowhead speeding towards her—and both times she flinched back so violently that she careened backwards into Mist and sent both girls toppling onto a haphazardly stacked pile of sheets. Mist never begrudged her for it, and for a moment Elincia thought she’d made the girl even smile.

Someone shouted loudly from near the road. Elincia tensed, Rolf tried to nock a crowbar to his bow in place of an arrow, and Mist worriedly brought a hand to something tucked under her shirt. Steel clashed. More shouts.

And…

Silence.

Elincia strained forward to catch any sounds, but not even the birds or insects dared offer any noise. In the distance, horse whinnied nervously, but the sounds of battle had evaporated the way morning light cuts through fog.

She, Mist, and Rolf sat in tense silence as well, each wary to break the unnatural quiet for a long, long minute.

Heavy footsteps thudded dimly closer from the other side of the door.

“…st? Mist, are you up there?”

Elincia turned her head to the door as Mist sprang to her feet and ran to open it, all semblance of caution forgotten. She fumbled to unlock the door and threw it wide.

“Brother!” she exclaimed.

Mist flung her arms around Ike’s waist and buried her face against his chest. He hugged her back, wrestling her just enough to make her stagger from foot to foot like she was trying to dance.

Elincia laced her fingers together, a soft smile across her face. Relief surged through her veins—here was her rescuer, alive and well, the Daein soldiers vanquished and order restored to the world.

“I had to check on you to make sure you were okay,” Ike said, releasing his sister. He looked over at Elincia with those fierce blue eyes. “Were they any trouble, Your Highness?”

“None whatsoever,” Elincia said.

“How dare you think we’re trouble!” Mist said teasingly.

She raised her hand to give her brother a playful pat on the arm but froze, seeing a deep streak of red staining his sleeve. Elincia’s breath caught at the same time.

“My lord Ike, you’re injured!” she said, getting to her feet in a rustle of fabric as her skirt trailed across the floor. With a brisk stride she closed the distance between them and reached for Ike’s arm without thinking; the boy twitched as if to draw back from a lit match. Now that she’d seen the first injury, Elincia noticed more little red cuts—and a not so little blotch of red at Ike’s hip. “You must get this tended to at once!”

“Rhys staved off the worst of it,” Ike dismissed. “I’ll be fine until we make camp.”

“Camp?”

“Brother, what’s going on?” Mist said worriedly. The strain in her voice made Ike wince, and he idly fidgeted with the rough fabric of his red cape. “Where’s Father?”

“He’s securing the perimeter—Mist, Rolf, Princess Elincia, I’m sorry, but we have to leave.”

Mist’s brow knotted together, the silence in those few seconds louder than any of the clashing weapons they’d heard down below. Rolf had let his bow drop to his hip, slightly shaking his head.

“We’re leaving the fort?” Rolf asked.

“We drove back the Daeins long enough to buy us some time to pack and get _out_. They’re preparing oil and arrows. I think they want to smoke us out of the fort if we don’t surrender.”

Elincia felt clammy; her throat had gone dry as reality set in. A smothering sense of guilt hung from the center of her chest.

_This is my fault,_ she thought. Slowly, she brought a hand to her mouth to cover it as if that could stem her thoughts from spilling into words. _If I had not so foolishly asked to take the highway south to Gallia… we would not have been ambushed… and if I had not taken advantage of these dear mercenaries, they would not have to fight off the warriors of Daein who so relentlessly pursue me, would not have to abandon their home, would…_

“Elincia?”

She startled; Ike once again flinched back like he’d accidentally done her harm. She forced a smile.

“Yes, my lord Ike?” she asked.

“Please, go with Mist and Rolf and help pack things from the mess hall,” he said. “I’ll go ready a horse for you, so you three should meet me in the stableyard. That’s where we’re all gathering before we set out for Gallia. I… I’m sorry about this.”

“It’s my fault, really,” Elincia said before she could stop herself. Her throat closed; she kept her eyes on the dirt on Ike’s boots rather than look him in the face. “I’ve endangered you by staying too long, I…”

A small hand closed around her own.

Elincia looked up; Mist had taken her hand firmly in her soft fingers. Rolf took the hand at her other side.

“We’re your protectors, right?” Mist said. “You’ll be just fine.”

“And even though we’re your _elite_ guard,” Rolf added, “you’ve still got both my brothers, _and_ Titania, _and_ Soren and Rhys and Gatrie and Shinon here too! Heck, you’ve got the Commander himself on your side!”

“Language,” Ike mumbled.

“Heck’s not a swear!”

Ike sighed, one hand moving subconsciously to the cut on his hip. “Look, just, please hurry, and don’t pack anything that obviously has mold on it. I’ll meet you outside.”

Elincia wanted to stay there and say something, anything, to offer reassurance, but her two young retainers took her quite literally by the hand down the stairs and around the bends to the mess hall and the galley kitchen. At their instruction, Elincia held open canvas sacks and determined what was mold and what was edible, but her chest still felt tight with worry. She sat on a chair Mist had brought over to help her reach the higher cabinets, holding a sack of mixed produce on her lap.

Mist handed her a woven bag with onions in it. “I’m sorry this is a little awkward,” she said, “making a princess help with packing…”

“I don’t mind, truly,” said Elincia. “I’m happy to help. It’s the least I can do in return for your gracious assistance.”

“Are all princesses good at packing?”

Elincia laughed. “Possibly! I wasn’t raised at a court, so I’m afraid I’m not the broad standard for princesses. I cooked, cleaned, sewed—why, I even learned fencing and horsemanship!”

“Wow!”

“They seem such mundane skills to me now, but they’ve proven useful time and time again.”

Mist nodded to herself, one hand drifting to something hidden by the collar of her shirt. Elincia tilted her head curiously.

“What do you have there?” she asked.

Mist’s hand jolted away so fast she smacked it against a cabinet door. She leaned coolly against it, trying to play suave, but Elincia merely waited patiently with the bag on her lap.

Mist checked to make sure Rolf wasn’t listening—the little green-haired boy was busy rummaging on all fours in a cabinet under the counter, hunting for tubers—and she leaned forward conspiratorially to Elincia.

“You have to promise not to touch it, alright?” Mist whispered. “Father forbid me from ever letting anyone else—even him—touch the metal, because he says it’s a special gift just for me.”

“You have my word,” Elincia said.

Mist nodded. Carefully, she tugged out a thin medallion the size of her palm from a pocket sewn into the front of her shirt.

A compass was beveled onto the surface, the three longest points dividing it in thirds with sunbeam-like spokes radiating out from the center. The metal was burnished blue-green like the sea and looked just as old—bits of tarnish had gathered in the corners between each of the spokes and the concentric circles that split the medallion beneath the spokes. As Elincia watched, small licks of cyan light soft as candles danced across the surface and passed harmlessly over Mist’s fingernails.

“It’s beautiful,” Elincia said breathlessly.

“It’s the only thing I have to remember my mother by. She died a few years after I was born.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Sometimes I like to imagine her holding on to it like this, too, and singing a lullaby,” Mist said. “I remember Mother singing it to me, but I can’t picture her face. I know she had Ike’s hair, at least, from what Father tells me.” Mist curled her fingers over the medal protectively, hiding the light from view before she discreetly stuck it back in her secret pocket. “What’s odd is that glow. It only started doing that a few days ago. It’s the strangest thing, and I can’t think why…”

“Mist, what should I do with these salt fish?” Rolf called.

“Pack them with the other jerky!” Mist replied.

“Aw, but salt fish are so gross…”

Elincia took Mist’s hand now that she wasn’t holding the medallion and squeezed it gently.

“I’m certain your mother would be proud to know she has such courageous children,” Elincia said. “And your father is as noble as any Crimean Knight. Come, let’s finish our packing so we can aid them, yes?”

Mist sniffed, and before Elincia knew it Mist was hugging her tightly around the shoulders, nearly knocking the produce bag from her lap. Elincia laughed, smoothing down Mist’s hair. Mist released her, a slightly embarrassed flush to her cheeks.

“Better?” Elincia asked.

“Mhm.”

“Mist, what about the eggs?” Rolf said.

“We’re packing whatever we can!” Mist said. “Come on, Rolf, Princess Elincia—we’ve got a job to do, and the Greil Mercenaries always get the job done!”

Elincia ferried bags to and fro until they’d filled whatever they could without risking the horses’ backs, and even though Rolf lamented them leaving behind so many good apples, Elincia was proud to contribute in a meaningful way. She helped heft the bags onto the saddles and keep the horses calm while Greil checked their final preparations.

“Remember, we only stop when we reach the Arbor River,” he said. “Princess, is that acceptable?”

Elincia held the reins of her horse steady, casting an approving gaze over the odd assembly that had come to her rescue in her hour of need.

She nodded.

“It is more than acceptable,” she said. “To Gallia?”

“To Gallia.”

The clouds parted long enough to let the moon light their way, and with one last forlorn look at the squat stone fort that had been a haven, Elincia and the Greil Mercenaries rode south towards the rolling fields and forests beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this in 6 hours in a possessed fugue state


	11. Chapter 11

The Daein keep hunkered in the heart of Nevassa and squinted with narrow windows at the city. It was a monument of dark gray stone and ages-old labor, and its cavernous halls and corridors had long since been cordoned off to anyone but the military.

A man in black-and-gold armor stood before a woman sitting at one of the high-backed chairs in the council chamber. The room was otherwise empty save for two guards by the door, and lit only by ambient gray light from the overcast sky outside and a small fire in the fireplace along the wall. Shadows hugged the room.

The woman watched him. She made no comment and merely stared at him until his knees began to shake.

She was lounging like a tiger, all casual ferocity and hidden temper, a glass of red wine in one hand. She swirled it while the soldier in front of her talked, boring her sharp gaze into him until he’d spilled every failure his troop had accomplished trying to bring that gnat of a girl to her. When the soldier had finally stilled his tongue, General Petrine sipped long from her wine and licked her lips.

“My, my,” she said, her voice like smoke, “I must be hearing things. I thought you just ended your report with ‘ _they got away_ ’.”

“W-well, we pursued her as far as we could,” said the soldier. Beads of sweat formed along his brow. “But she took shelter with—”

“Yes, with a ‘terrifyingly strong’ group of rabble mercenaries, you’ve mentioned,” Petrine interrupted. Her wine-stained lips curled in a facsimile of a snarl, and her fingernails clinked against her glass as she tightened her grip. “And where _is_ General Dakova, might I ask?”

“He’s, ah—”

“Too cowardly to face his own fate!” Petrine finished for the man, letting out a bark of a laugh. “What a fool. When I see him again, I’ll skewer him on the end of my lance.”

She leaned forward, making the soldier flinch.

“As for you,” she purred, “you turned tail and fled back here as soon as you were able, yes? Have you forgotten the Daein army’s motto? _Success_ or _failure_ , _life_ or _death_. You’ve lost your privilege to serve your country.”

She snapped her fingers at one of the guards beside the door.

“Take this trash to the stockade,” she said casually.

The soldier before her was sweating buckets, and he desperately stammered while he was being dragged away, but Petrine paid him no attention. As soon as she’d passed her judgment, it was like the man had been erased from her list of cares. Even his distant shouts and pleas fell on deaf ears.

Petrine tilted her glass back to get the last drops of wine on her tongue and then flung the empty glass to the wall behind her, shattering it upon the stone.

“Dog’s breath!” she cursed. “All I want is one weepy-hearted girl to parade around the capital before we kill her, and I’m surrounded by infantry too incompetent to accomplish even that! Ena, come here, darling, and tell me a bit of _good_ news.”

The other guard by the door moved forward into the firelight. She wore no armor to speak of; her blue shift was embroidered with gold, and her boots were soundless as she crossed to Petrine’s side, avoiding the broken glass. Her tawny skin practically glowed, her navy-colored eyes warm but distant. Her rosy pink hair was pulled back into a long ponytail that fell across her back. If Petrine squinted, she could see a faint shimmer across the woman’s cheeks like snakeskin.

Petrine made a mental note to steal whatever powder Ena used as makeup for her own skin. Nothing like invoking snakes and wyverns to make yourself more fear-inducing.

“Tell me, Ena,” Petrine said, “how should we hunt down these worthless mercenaries and that girl?”

Ena was quiet for a moment, running calculations in her head. As her forehead furrowed in concentration, it crinkled the deep red rhombus-like mark down the center of her brow. Two other such marks adorned her cheeks.

“The Crimean capital is already under King Ashnard’s control,” she said, “and the remnants of the Crimean army would not be able to offer her the protection she needs. That leaves only Gallia to the south if she were able to secure asylum.”

“Now, that _is_ good news,” Petrine said. She reached out a hand and swiped her thumb over Ena’s cheek, frowning when no obvious powder came away on her skin. “Be a good officer and fetch me a wyvern corps, will you? Riding straight there will take far too long, and I mean to catch them before they can cross into that beast country.”

“You mean to go yourself? If you wait, I could gather intelligence on that group as—”

“Not needed. We know where she’s going, so there’s no need to be subtle. You have your orders, Ena, dear.”

Ena nodded, her face neutral as she bowed once from the waist and retreated from the council room. Petrine watched her go, suddenly wishing she hadn’t smashed that glass on the ground. Her lips were stained with wine, and she ran her tongue over them once more for any last taste of bitter alcohol.

“Run while you can, little princess,” she murmured. “I’ll soon have your pretty head mounted on the walls.”

***

The Greil Mercenaries rode hard for a week straight, stopping only to rest their horses to keep the mounts from collapsing underneath them. Ike would wake restless at dawn, help saddle the horses and erase any traces of their impromptu campsites, and ride with the rest until sundown, collapsing with exhaustion and sore muscles with his cape as a blanket to repeat it all again the next day.

“Ashera above, I’m so sore from all this riding,” Boyd had complained one night. “Boss, how much longer is it until we reach Gallia?”

Greil had said nothing, but he fixed Boyd with a stern set of his jaw and a harsh look in his eyes.

No one voiced a complaint again after that.

The produce Mist, Rolf, and Elincia had packed had lasted just as long. Just as they were riding south, spring’s warm weather was riding up the continent to meet them, and the sudden rainstorms soaked the company to the bone and spoiled any food they’d left unpacked. Shinon would hunt at twilight once they’d stopped to rest, and while he never shared anything more than squirrels and rabbits, it was a welcome addition to the soups Oscar would make for the company.

When the great Sea of Trees finally crested the horizon, Ike nearly slumped over with relief.

The forest stretched as far as he could see—east to west across the horizon, broken only by the crests of the Southern Crimean hills. The leaves rustled in the wind, and even from this distance Ike thought he could hear them whisper if he leaned forward and concentrated.

“Would you look at that,” he said.

“The Sea of Trees is quite a sight,” Elincia said, riding up beside him. “I admit I’ve never seen it in the flesh myself, only paintings and illustrations, but it is quite the spectacle. It must light the skyline ablaze in autumn, no?”

Ike nodded, and Elincia took that as conversation enough.

_Maybe we’ll visit once we finish our business with the princess,_ Ike thought as they rode closer. _It’s only spring, after all. We could be back at the fort by the end of summer at the latest. I’m sure Mist would love the colors…_

Now that their respite was in sight, Greil pushed the company until they reached the tree line. Once they redistributed their horses’ loads, Greil sent two of the horses cantering back into the hills with a slap on their withers.

“The Sea of Trees is dense,” he said curtly, catching Shinon’s argumentative expression before he could speak. “We’d have a hard time riding quickly, and the animals could easily panic and get trapped in a poor spot of underbrush. Sending them away gives our enemies one more set of tracks to confuse them. Mount up—we’ll make camp once we pass five miles into the forest.”

He planted his foot in the stirrup and swung back onto his gray destrier’s saddle, ochre cloak billowing behind him.

Shinon leaned over to Gatrie and whispered something that made the blond-haired man chortle, but Ike paid them no mind, following his father and Titania and keeping a close eye on Elincia riding beside him.

As soon as he passed into the Sea of Trees, Ike felt a humid chill race over him as the thick canopy of leaves diluted the sun. The air was lush with moisture and rich with birdsong, and as the horses plodded along a dirt-and-grass trail, flowers and ferns peered up at them from every patch of dirt they could grow in. The leaves above cast a green tint over everything in sight like looking through stained glass. As Ike watched, a little orange finch twittered at him from a low-hanging branch before flying away to disappear among the woods.

Greil stopped them in a half-circle clearing relatively free of loose branches and stones. A brook rippled nearby, and even though sunset was another hour away, the campsite was filled with hazy light as the trees filtered the sun through their branches.

Ike had dismounted and was taking his horse by the reins to Titania when he saw Elincia struggling to untangle her own mount’s reins from a tree branch they’d snagged on when the animal had tossed its head. The horse swished its tail like a whip and danced nervously from foreleg to foreleg as Elincia tried to soothe it.

“Please, it’s all right,” Elincia said to the horse, stroking its cheek with one hand while the other desperately fumbled for the snag, “don’t fret, I’ll have you out in just a minute…”

“I’ve got it,” Ike said.

He reached over Elincia’s shoulder and tugged the reins free from the offending branch, handing them to her.

“Oh, my lord Ike, thank you so much!” Elincia said.

“It’s no trouble—”

Ike froze; Elincia had put her own fingers over his to take the reins, and he’d stopped short. She looked at him with a sympathetic tilt to her brow, her brown eyes searching his.

“Why do you flinch so when I touch you?” she asked him quietly. “I haven’t hurt you, have I? If so, I greatly apologize.”

Ike looked over her shoulder at the rest of the company setting camp, looking for an easy out, but everyone else seemed so preoccupied with their business that they hadn’t even noticed him. Soren had set aside a little hollow in one of the trees as his bedspace and caught Ike’s eye, but he was too far away to make any kind of graceful diversion.

Soren tilted his head. Ike tried to convey his plight as best he could with wide eyes and a minute expression, but Soren took one look at Elincia and resumed unpacking his own bedroll.

_Some help you are,_ Ike thought.

He stifled a groan. Elincia was still waiting for an answer.

“This is going to sound awkward,” he said, looking anywhere but her face, “but back along the road when we first found you, Rhys and I had to move you to bring you back to the fort.”

“Yes, I assumed so,” Elincia said with a teasing smile, “for how else would I have gotten from one location to the other?”

“I—right, yeah. But the thing that bugged me was I’d never asked your permission first. Granted, you were unconscious, but I felt bad that I had to hold on to you without you really knowing what was going on. So I guess I’ve been fidgety. I don’t want you to think I took advantage of you.”

Elincia shook her head slowly, that pleasant smile on her face crinkling the corners of her eyes. She patted Ike’s arm with her other hand and released him.

“My lord Ike, you have a sense of dignity that would behoove someone of the court,” she said appreciatively.

“Which means…?”

“You have a noble heart.”

Ike blinked, brow furrowed. “Thanks?”

“I owe you and master Greil and lord Rhys and the rest of your delightful company my life,” Elincia continued, “none of which would be possible had you not acted with compassion. You did the right thing. And, as a favor to me, please do not feel the need to walk on eggshells around me any more.”

Ike let out a low laugh. “Sure, I can do that,” he said. “Here, let me take your horse; I think Mist wanted to teach you Three Knights now that there’s still some daylight.”

Elincia graciously gave him the reins, and Ike brought the horses to Titania, who’d taken on the duty that day of currying and hobbling the horses for the night. Boyd was busy building a fire, Greil had disappeared to patrol with Shinon and Gatrie, and Oscar had taken out all manner of iron pots to figure out their dinner situation with Rolf.

With no immediate duties, Ike edged around the camp until he found Soren. The boy had slipped through the brush at the edge of the clearing to sit between two cottonwood trees, just high enough to keep his feet from getting muddy as he overlooked the brook that wound its way sinuously around moss-covered boulders.

Ike pushed his way through the underbrush, snapping twigs and rustling leaves, and while he knew Soren had definitely heard him approach he still waited for a moment before coming up to stand next to him.

Soren had a blank book open on his lap and was writing in a curious cursive script, ink pot sitting on a flat rock beside him. When he’d finished the sentence he was writing, Soren blew gently on the ink to dry it and set the fountain pen down.

“What was that all about?” he asked Ike. “Earlier, with the princess.”

“Elincia says I have a noble heart,” Ike said, leaning against one of the cottonwood trees. “And apparently that I ‘behoove the court’, whatever that means.”

Soren snorted. “Flowery praise,” he said. “Does she always speak in poems?”

“Not that I’m aware, but, then again, I don’t know the first thing about poetry. Rhys had some books, though.”

The memory of the fort’s study suddenly hit Ike like winter air after leaving a fireplace. He’d been too preoccupied to let it sink in at the time, but now that they’d put leagues between them and their old home, the sting felt as fresh as if it had happened last night. While Ike was busy securing Elincia a horse and making sure they wouldn’t be attacked, his father had taken Rhys and Soren and pulled only essential books from their library and burned the rest, keeping the door shut so the fire wouldn’t spread throughout the fort. All of their records, leisure books, even old tomes they’d found on missions past—all of them burned and reduced to ash.

Soren hadn’t seemed too bothered by it, but, then again, he had a habit of shrugging off just about anything and only talked about it when Ike nagged him enough. Ike studied him a moment before speaking.

“Hey, Soren,” he asked, “do you remember the books we had in the library?”

“Of course,” Soren said without even looking up. “I’d helped catalogue them.” He took up the pen again and dipped it in the ink, starting another line half a centimeter below the rest of his writing. “I didn’t realize you were so invested in the fort’s literary collection.”

“Well, not as much as you, but I bet there was a lot of important stuff we had to leave behind. Weren’t you researching wind magic?”

Soren nodded, black bangs bobbing over his forehead and the little red mark there. “Advanced conjurations and aeolian spells—but they were not essential to our company’s function. Practically speaking, it wouldn’t make sense to add all that extra weight. I only took a blank volume for notes and an extra spellbook for when my current volume inevitably falls apart. Given enough time and resources, I could theoretically copy back all the company’s records and my old spellbooks.”

“Really?”

“Near-enough replicas at least.”

Ike leaned down and picked up a piece of bark that had fallen onto the ground. He tapped it against his chin thoughtfully, ignoring the little specks of dirt that came away on his skin.

“Paper comes from trees, right?” he asked.

“Yes, and other plant matter, but I hardly see why that’s—”

Ike set the bark on top of Soren’s open book. He stood on tip-toes, palm braced against the tree trunk, and snapped the biggest leaves he could reach off the branches, adding them on top. Soren looked at him, baffled.

“Ike, _what_ are you doing?” he asked.

“You could start with these, right?” Ike replied. “If you run out of pages in your notebook. I know they’re not as durable as real paper, but if you bind enough of them together you could make a booklet—maybe grind berries for more ink if yours runs out.”

Soren shook his head, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips.

“And, I bet when we reach Gallia and help the princess get settled,” Ike continued, “we could get you plenty of real paper and enough ink to write an entire library!”

That rare smile twitched at the edges, fading as soon as it had appeared.

“Of course,” Soren said, looking down at the odd collection of leaves and bark cluttered over the open fold.

Ike tilted his head, waiting for Soren to say something else, but he’d lapsed into silence.

Shrugging, Ike sat down beside Soren, squishing himself between the boy and the tree, and let the ambient sounds of the forest and the _scratch-scratch_ of Soren’s writing fill his ears. The brook turned dark brown and green as the sun finally dipped past the canopy.

When Soren had finished the page he was writing—with a few odd diagrams Ike couldn’t parse—he took the piece of bark and placed it vertically like a bookmark.

“Oh, here,” Ike said, reaching to take the leaves off the page.

“No, you can leave them,” Soren said. Carefully he folded the book closed, pressing the leaves like one would press wildflowers.

Ike took the lead back through the bushes, pushing aside the lower branches so they wouldn’t whip back into Soren’s face, and they returned to camp. Boyd had gotten a fire decently blazing, and the scent of whatever soup Oscar was cooking made Ike’s stomach audibly growl. On a woven blanket beside the fire, Mist, Elincia, and Rhys were sitting around a pile of colorful pebbles, acorns, and sticks, playing a game together. Mist waved at Ike and beckoned him to join.

“I guess they’re still playing Three Knights,” Ike said. He nudged Soren gently in the shoulder. “Do you want to play, too?”

“I’m fine. Don’t let me stop you from a riveting time, though.”

Ike laughed at Soren’s dry delivery and went to sit beside his sister. Mist handed him a group of acorns and the game resumed. Elincia had picked up the rules surprisingly quick, and, before long, she’d racked up the most points out of the four of them. She clapped her hands together gleefully and accepted a crown of woven grass that Mist had made.

Ike sat back, a bowl of soup in his hands, watching the company let their guard down for what felt like the first time in over a week. He sipped the broth and let himself smile.

_It’ll be okay,_ he thought. _We’ve made it this far, Gallia is only a few days further, and then we can all rest. Soren can have as much writing materials as he could ever want, Oscar could have fresh vegetables and fruits… it’ll be great._

Across the fire, broad shoulders angled towards the darkened forest, Greil stood vigil against the threats lurking just out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dragon laguz don't have obvious wings/horns/tails (a shame) so i thought of other ways to make their laguz type apparent
> 
> sorry this chapter is kinda all over the place :( i started writing it yesterday and got a headache halfway through, then picked it up again this morning
> 
> thanks for reading


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the vaguest spoiler alert for ike and soren's RD endgame support (you know the one)

Soren closed his eyes, listened to the wind, and nearly tripped over a tree root.

“Careful,” Ike said, catching him by the elbow. “The trail’s really thick with branches along here.”

“Duly noted,” Soren replied, readjusting his belt and the light blue scarf he’d tied around his waist. Once Ike’s attention went back to the trees, Soren kicked a twig spitefully into the bushes.

Now that they’d entered the Sea of Trees, their pace was slower, and the horses only moved at a sensible walk two abreast on the winding trail through the woods. The leaves above shifted with the wind and told the weather—blustery, with rainclouds a few days off from the southwest, but nothing to severely hinder their progress into Gallia.

Soren kicked another twig away with his sandal. By Greil’s estimate, they’d cross the Silva River before noon, and the sun was nearly straight overhead. He and Titania were riding in front along with Oscar, the children and Elincia behind them, talking and mingling like they were on a family picnic and not a flight from disaster.

Soren had decided to walk beside Ike several paces behind the main group. Not having to ride double with Titania was a boon, but being pestered by idle conversation was its own grim consequence. At least Ike knew the value of keeping company in silence.

_Unlike_ some _people,_ Soren thought, hearing another sigh from their rear guard and resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Goddess, this place is humid,” Gatrie grumbled for what Soren counted as the fifth time that hour. “All these trees packed together is like the fort in the summer, no ventilation at all, I swear! If we weren’t being chased by Daeins, I’d strip this armor off here and now…”

“Then it’s a good thing we _are_ being pursued,” Soren said, whirling around in time to glare at Gatrie before the man could loosen so much as a buckle. “Quit complaining and shoulder your burdens silently like the rest of us.”

“Aw, Soren, you’re awfully cranky today,” Gatrie said, genuinely concerned. “Woke up on the wrong side of the ground?”

Shinon snickered. Soren glared daggers at the two of them.

“Ha, ha. You’re hilarious,” Soren said blandly. “Have you ever considered quitting the company and forming your own comedy troupe? You could star as your very own hapless jester.”

Gatrie tilted his head. “Do they pay better?” he asked.

“No, you idiot,” Shinon said, “the brat’s messing with you!”

“But what if it’s legit? Shinon, this could be our big break!”

“Guys, settle down,” Ike interrupted. “We’re almost in Gallia. Father said there’s likely enemy soldiers at the Silva River crossing, so save your energy for fighting, not bickering.”

Gatrie gave him a casual salute; Shinon said nothing and pulled out an arrow from his quiver to pick his nails with. Ike frowned at them.

“Enemy soldiers,” Shinon repeated. “Do you mean Daeins, or _beasts?_ ”

Gatrie shushed Shinon and jerked his chin towards the front of the company. Titania and Greil’s figures were far ahead—still visible, but well out of earshot.

“It’s fine, you dolt,” Shinon said. “They’re the only ones who care, anyway.”

Soren shook his head, turning his attention back to the trail. He stepped over a gnarled tree root that spread over the trail like water spilling from an overturned glass.

Something went _clunk_ behind him. Gatrie let out a muffled curse.

Soren hid a little smile behind his hand.

“I hate this whole errand,” Shinon griped. “Stupid princess, stupid beast country… the sooner we’re out of here, the better.”

“But we haven’t even gotten _into_ Gallia yet,” Gatrie said.

“Yeah, and I’m ready to leave right now before one of those freaky sub-humans decides to make us into its midday snack…”

“That can’t be true, right?” Ike asked, looking over his shoulder at them. “Crimea wouldn’t have made allegiances with a country whose citizens _ate_ travelers.”

“Certainly not a sound political practice,” Soren said under his breath.

“Oh, that and worse is true, Ikey-boy,” Shinon said, grinning slyly. He returned the arrow in his hand to his quiver and curled his fingers like claws, baring them at Ike and Soren. “They’re ugly as sin, with great fangs in their mouths and hair all over—and in the blink of an eye they can turn into cats as big as humans, tigers as big as horses, even birds and horrible-looking dragons in the _real_ southern countries. They can smell blood five miles away and fear at _ten_ … so you’d better stay out of the way with the other children. You know. Throw them off our trail.”

Ike’s frown grew tense; Soren let out a breath through his nose.

“I’m surprised you don’t know this shit,” Shinon continued. “Any mercenary worth their snuff knows about the sub-humans and how to deal with them. Preferably how to make throw rugs.”

“And any good mercenary also knows not to spread rumors,” Ike countered.

Shinon elbowed Gatrie in the side, aiming for a spot between the plates of blue armor. “Ooh, don’t tell on me to the Commander!” Shinon said. “Heaven forbid we get in trouble for speaking our minds!”

Ike quickened his step, Soren half a second behind, leaving Shinon to his own snarky business. The trail had begun to slope gently downward, and loose rocks caught under their shoes as they went. Soren could taste fresh water on the roof of his mouth when he breathed in, carried by the humid breeze.

Ike checked over his shoulder to make sure Shinon was out of earshot before he leaned over to Soren.

“He’s just being an ass, right?” Ike said quietly.

Soren waved his hand. “Somewhat,” he said. “Sub-humans _can_ turn into animals, like he said, and they _do_ bear physical characteristics of their tribe in a humanoid form, but they don’t eat travelers.”

“Oh, thank goodness…”

“They’ll chase children out of their towns, though,” Soren said, looking at the dappled shadows along the side of the trail. “In the thick of Gallia, they’ll ignore humans and band together in their own packs. I can’t imagine what the princess wants with their king. They don’t strike me as the type prone to sympathy.”

Ike tilted his head, and Soren could feel his eyes studying Soren’s own face for any kind of clue, but Soren held his breath and kept his face painfully neutral. After a moment, Ike turned away, smiling as he saw a songbird with a red crest flitter through the trees.

Greil whistled sharply from the front of the line.

Soren and Ike hurried to meet him, edging around the other horses and trying not to startle them. Elincia was riding with Mist, and Rhys with Rolf—all four of them looked as stricken as if the meat in their breakfast had been replaced with stones. Boyd was leaning against a thick maple tree, idly chipping off bits of its bark with his axe, while Oscar looked on disapprovingly.

Greil stayed atop his gray destrier, counting the heads of the company assembling around him before he spoke.

“We’re reaching the edge of the tree line,” he said curtly. “There’s bound to be a Daein patrol guarding the bridge—Titania and Oscar saw their wyverns flying overhead about twenty minutes ago.”

“No way around it?” Gatrie said.

“Not unless we take another week through the Sea of Trees to reach the next major crossing further west. Which, as you can imagine, is out of the question.”

Greil turned in his saddle so he could look down at Soren and Ike.

“Soren,” he said. “What do you suggest?”

Soren blinked, taking a moment to compose his thoughts. They’d been traveling and camping for a week and a half now—just long enough without a skirmish to make Soren briefly forget he was the company’s tactician—but the cold reminder of their delicate position replaced Shinon’s antagonism and Gallia’s wild nature with levelheaded logic.

“Without knowing their exact numbers, it’s hard to make a soundproof strategy,” he said.

“Do your best.”

Soren nodded. Greil’s tone was direct, but not angry—this was a calculated risk, and they’d guessed Daein would be trying their damndest to cut them off at any possible head. It was only rational.

“…Some of our group cannot fight,” Soren said, eying Elincia, Rhys, and the children. “If we’re caught in the open, we’ll have a difficult time protecting them _and_ defending ourselves against attackers. We could split into two groups—one to divert the Daeins’ attention, one to cross the border—and reconvene at a specific location once both parties have safely crossed.”

Greil rubbed his chin, eying Soren with those uncannily stony eyes. Soren looked back just as coolly.

“That makes the most sense with what limited information we have,” Greil said. “Good work.”

He tapped his heels against his horse’s flanks, turning it towards a bend in the trail with dead vines hanging down from some of the trees. With a quick gesture he caught Shinon and Gatrie’s attention and beckoned them to him.

“I’ll lead the diversion team,” Greil said, “and Shinon and Gatrie will be my backup. We meet at Lionne—it’s five miles south along the main thoroughfare.”

“Fath—Commander, are you sure you don’t need anyone else?” Ike said. “Soren said it himself; we don’t know how many soldiers are waiting for us.”

“Idiot pup,” Shinon snapped, “don’t waste your effort worrying about people who don’t need it!”

Greil gave Shinon a sharp look. Shinon, to Soren’s amazement, actually shut up.

“Ike, you lead the rest along the current trail,” Greil ordered. “Titania will be your second. The rest of you—listen up, and listen sharp: I know the road has been difficult for many of you. I thank you for your endurance and your dedication.”

He sat up in the saddle, every bit a statue carved from living flesh. Even the dappled sunlight streaming in from the canopy cast his face in grandeur.

“I want none of you dying on me. What we have is stronger than simple blood ties. We are a _family_ , and if you don’t want to cause your family any grief, then live!”

The company echoed a chorus of ‘yes, Commander’ like birds perched atop a single tree.

“Yes, Commander,” Soren said.

“Yes, Father,” Ike added.

Greil, if he caught the slip, said nothing. He merely swept his gaze over the company and nodded, once, before kicking his horse towards the woods, Shinon and Gatrie at his side.

Ike watched them until the trees swallowed their silhouettes. Soren gently tapped him on the shoulder to shake his friend back to the present.

“Well, Ike?” he asked.

“Right—everyone, stay close,” Ike said. “Try to keep quiet, and if you see something suspicious, whistle like the Commander did to get us to stop before. Keep a hand on your weapons. And, uhm, keep an eye on your companions.”

“Yes, sir,” Titania said warmly. Boyd rolled his eyes behind her and mumbled something that barely sounded like an assent to Soren’s ears.

Ike adjusted the knot of his red cape and set off down the trail with one hand on the pommel of the sword at his hip. Soren fell into step beside him, eyes trained on the distant curve of the river through the trees. The others on foot and horseback filed in behind. The crunch of boots and horses’ hooves over dirt and dead leaves replaced the colorful twitter of the birds, who’d fallen silent the closer they came to the break in the trees. Even the insects were mute.

Soren closed his eyes, listened to the wind, and counted the steps until they left Crimea’s soil behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shinon is fun to write but my GOD is he a dick


	13. Chapter 13

When the trees thinned enough to see the distant riverbank, Ike called the company to halt under cover of thick maples and birches.

Titania tugged on the reins and patted her white destrier on the neck to soothe it. The horse had caught the scent of other animals and the sweat of men across the river, and its nostrils flared as it stood quivering in place. Titania sighed.

“You’re a valiant friend,” she told it, “but you could stand to be a shade less nervous.”

“I hope you’re not talking about me,” Oscar said from beside her. He had an easygoing smile on, but Titania could tell from the tense grip on his own horse’s reins that the man was equally as worried.

Titania gave him a steady smile. “Oscar, you know I would never speak slander about you,” she said. “The only time I came close was when you made casserole with the mushrooms your brothers brought you from their foraging hike.”

Oscar blanched. “Don’t remind me,” he said mock-gravely.

Titania leaned across to pat him on the pauldron. The woods were far quieter, as if the trees had stopped their whispering and were holding their breath waiting to see what the company would do. Titania could barely hear the river, but Soren was looking out towards it attentively, his red eyes focused on something in the middle distance.

“We’re not leaving the cover of the trees here until we have a plan to cross the river,” Ike said, keeping his voice steady as he addressed the eight of them. “Stay in the shadows and try not to make too much noise until we’re ready to go.”

“Sounds good,” Boyd said, leaning back against a tree trunk. “You let us know when you’ve got a plan, rookie.”

Ike frowned at him.

“Let me scout their numbers,” Soren said, and before Ike could get a word in Soren crept into the bushes and began making his way to the tree line.

“Soren, wait!” Ike hissed.

Titania shook her head. _That boy is going to get himself killed if he keeps acting like a fool,_ she thought. She had half a mind to dismount and march over there to drag Soren back by the scruff of his neck, but she reluctantly stayed put, waiting for him to return—or for the sound of discovery, whichever came first.

After a tense minute, Soren returned, picking his way through the bushes like a deer.

“How does it look, Soren?” Titania asked.

“Not good. There are quite a bit more of them than I’d anticipated,” Soren replied, shaking his head. “They’ve spread out along the banks and are covering two bridges—not like we’d want to take the smaller one; it looks rickety and would collapse if we sent a horse over it. But I’m surprised. Daein really isn’t taking any chances… the little princess must be worth far more to them than we thought.”

At that comment, Ike carefully glanced at Elincia, but the girl was preoccupied with a braid of grass Mist had handed her from the saddle. The two were riding on their own horse with Mist in front, and Rhys and Rolf had a similar situation just behind them.

“…We can’t turn around, though,” Ike said.

“It’s too late for that,” Soren said. “We’ve already split up, and if we stay here for too long they’ll eventually notice us.”

“Damn it,” Ike said under his breath.

Titania kept her horse in line with Oscar’s, watching Ike with trained patience. Oscar was just as stoic beside her.

 _Give him time,_ Titania thought to herself. _Let him think. He’s Greil’s son, after all._

“Alright,” Ike said, turning once again to address the company at large. “The trail we’re on empties onto the riverbank that way. We stay in the cover of the trees and make a break for the closest bridge. Boyd: you, me, and Soren are going to keep as many people from harassing the horses as we can. If we get boxed in, we aren’t making it to the other side.”

“You got it,” Boyd said with a casual salute.

“Titania, you and Oscar are in charge of guarding the princess, Rhys, and the kids. Move in pairs, stick together, do whatever you need to do to make sure no one’s getting thrown off their mount.”

“Understood,” Titania said along with Oscar.

“Oh, ah! My lord Ike,” Elincia piped up, even raising her hand like she was in a schoolclass, “I was waiting for a proper time to mention it, but I do have fencing experience. Lend me a sword from your armory and I shall fight by your side!”

“No, you won’t,” Ike said softly. “I’m sorry, Princess, but I can’t let you expose yourself to danger like that. Everyone here is risking their neck to keep you safe. Please understand.”

“I—yes,” Elincia said, lowering her head with a faint blush across her cheeks. In front of her on the saddle, Mist took one of Elincia’s hands and curled her own fingers around it.

“That said, I’m trusting your horsemanship to get you and Mist safely across,” Ike added. “Don’t worry too much. Rhys and Rolf will be riding right beside you.”

Elincia smiled and squeezed Mist’s hand.

“Alright, let’s get going,” Ike said, motioning for the company to fall in line behind him.

The Silva River was a snake that wound hidden through the Sea of Trees, exposed only in these rare portions where the trees had given way enough for sunlight to reach the ground. The river was only twenty feet wide, but it churned muddy and dark, early floods having swelled its banks to dampen the grass on either side.

The trail they’d been on continued out into the open and crossed a wooden bridge, curving once it reached the other side towards a gap in the trees guarded by a cluster of black-armored Daeins. The tallest one among them held a spear with a shining leaf-shaped blade atop an ebony-wood shaft.

 _Ostentatious,_ Titania noted with disdain. _A weapon is only valuable if it can perform the duty it was made for, not strike an image for a mantelpiece._

She could see the man if she squinted; the noonday sun made the river shine into her eyes if she looked at it too closely.

Above her, the dense canopy rustled as Soren took a green-backed book in his hand and nudged it open. Ike drew his sword from its sheath. Titania gripped the handle of her axe, running her thumb along its weathered wood grain.

Ike whistled, sharply, and the company burst from the trees like floodwater from a dam.

Titania kicked her heels against her destrier’s flanks and leaned forward as it surged ahead, her own braid whipping behind her like the horse’s tail. With a sweep Titania knocked one of the Daeins off his feet and left him with a deep cut across his chest; swapping hands, she brought the axe down on her other side to dislocate an archer’s shoulder before they could shoot. Mud churned under her horse’s hooves as it reared back, allowing Titania to knock another soldier flat to the ground with a single blow.

“There they are!” someone shouted from downriver. “Send for General Petrine! Hurry!”

Titania tugged her destrier in a tight circle, narrowly avoiding a glancing blow from a soldier’s raised spear. She gritted her teeth—two Daeins on gray horses were racing into the trees towards the east.

“Keep moving!” Ike urged, running up to Titania, Soren mumbling spells a few paces behind him. “Soren’s got the bridge—make for the trees!”

Titania nodded curtly and kicked her horse into a canter. Before her eyes, a gale buffeted the two soldiers guarding the bridge straight over into the water. While they floundered under the weight of their own armor, Titania surged across, knocking a swordsman away with a savage cut into his collarbone.

Two horses streaked past her, cantering full out with their tails like flags for the trees. Rhys had bent low over Rolf to keep the boy safe, and Elincia and Mist were riding hard beside them. Titania barely had time to register the bloom of red on one of the horse’s flanks before a soldier slashed at her legs with a slender iron sword.

The blade clanged off of her shin guard. Titania swung her foot out of the stirrup and kicked the man square in the face.

He toppled over, and Titania thwacked him with the side of her axe for good measure before she steered her horse away.

A clamor came from the cluster of soldiers guarding the trail into Gallia. Ike and Oscar had rushed in with Soren at their backs and were making a surprising dent in the Daeins’ formation. The man with the ostentatious spear was backing away towards the river, edged step by step by Ike’s own swift swordplay. One of Soren’s spells knocked the man over a stone, and as he desperately swung with his spear, Ike finished him with a sharp strike through the side of his ribcage.

The soldier toppled into the river. The water bloomed red where he sank.

Titania allowed herself a moment of warm pride before she urged her horse on. Without their commanding officer, the troops were scattering like bugs, and several were already trying to cross the smaller rickety bridge downriver to return to the Sea of Trees.

Most of Greil’s company had escaped into the trees—Oscar was wheeling his brown horse back and forth to keep the remaining Daeins on their side of the river from following those who’d gained the trail.

“Ah, hell, come on! Stupid axe—!”

Titania turned; Boyd was a ways behind her, standing over a dead body. He was tugging on his axe; the blade had gotten stuck in the corpse’s shoulder, and Boyd was struggling to get it loose again. He planted one foot on the dead man’s chest to try and get some leverage, but the axe wouldn’t budge.

Along the bank, one of the Daeins raised their bow and nocked an arrow at Boyd.

“Leave it!” Titania shouted.

Boyd dropped the handle and rolled out of the as an arrow thudded into the ground where he once stood. Casting the Daeins a sour look, Boyd scrambled to his feet and started racing for the cover of the trees.

Titania whistled; Oscar held up his arm in acknowledgement and started cantering towards her, swiping with his lance to drive away a few more Daeins. Once Boyd had disappeared under the dappled shadows of the trail, Titania and Oscar took up positions in front of the trailhead to keep anyone from sneaking by in pursuit.

“Just like old times, right?” Oscar said breathlessly.

“Did we serve in the same regiment?” Titania asked.

She kicked another soldier away with her leg; Oscar finished them with a sharp downward stab.

“I don’t believe so,” Oscar said, wiping sweat away from his bangs, “but I doubt the Royal Knights have changed their tune much over the past decade.”

They held their position with practiced ability until only two soldiers remained on their side of the river. One dropped her sword and sprinted for the bridge. The other foolishly charged Oscar and met the sharp end of his lance.

Titania squinted back towards the other bank. Shadows with metal edges milled angrily among the trees. A few arrows flew towards them and fell uselessly twenty feet short.

“We need to go,” Titania said, angling her horse’s head towards the trail. “They’ll launch another pursuit any minute now—and I saw two of them head east to warn their general. If we can reach Lionne by the late afternoon, we can restock and contact a Gallian envoy for the princess.”

“Lead the way,” said Oscar.

Now that they’d crossed into Gallia proper, the trail was still only as wide as two horses riding abreast—as they were—but the forest was beginning to thin. Patches of open meadow with wild, untamed grass tall as their horses’ bellies broke between the endless forest. Bees and other insects hummed around the wildflowers as Titania and Oscar crossed a wide meadow, following the tamped-down tracks of their companions.

They found the rest of their party around the side of a large granite outcrop, safely hidden in its cool shadow just off the road. They’d dismounted and let their horses drink from a nearby creek; Elincia and Mist were feeding the animals bits of meadow grass. Rhys was wrapping a bit of linen around Soren’s forearm—to the boy’s sullen attitude—and Ike was sharing a small clay pot of salve with Boyd. Rolf trailed behind Rhys with his brass staff and extra rolls of linen in his arms.

When he saw Oscar and Titania ride up, Rolf’s face broke into a bright grin.

“They’re back, they’re back!” he said. “ _And_ it’s before the hour’s up—Boyd, you owe me a gold coin now!”

“Don’t tell me you were making bets on me again,” Oscar groaned. “I thought I told you to knock it off?”

“Blame Shinon,” Boyd said, handing the pot of salve back to Ike. “He’s the one teaching the little runt bad habits.”

“You two are going to make my hair gray at this rate…”

While Oscar dismounted, Titania stayed atop her horse, counting heads.

 _One, two, three, four,_ she tallied. _… seven, eight. Good._

She released the tension in her shoulders. Beneath her, her horse lowered its head and blew a great sigh through its lips.

Titania swung out of the saddle and patted her horse on the neck before she let it join its own equine friends by the creek. Rhys and Rolf’s horse was bleeding along its flank, and it stood under the branches of a birch tree with its ears pinned back and one hoof cocked dangerously, as if daring anyone to come near. As Titania’s destrier approached, the other horse snorted at it derisively.

“Is anyone hurt?” Titania asked.

“Not severely,” Ike said. He had a bit of blood on his shirt, but since he was refusing any bandages for it Titania had to assume it was someone else’s. “Are you being chased?”

“Not yet, but they’re regrouping across the riverbank. We likely have about ten minutes before we’re at risk of rediscovery.”

“We can’t afford to rest now,” Soren said. He was standing still while Rhys was tying off the wrappings on his arm, but as soon as Rhys cut the bandage free Soren yanked his arm away and hurriedly tugged his sleeve down to cover it. “We’re too close to the road and far too close to another battle to risk lowering our guard.”

Titania frowned. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“Do you see the fort through the trees there?”

Soren maneuvered out of the outcrop’s shadow to point at a thin line of gray stone peeking out from the canopy not two miles away. It was so well hidden, it could have been just a flat slab of rock from a weathered-down hill to the untrained eye.

Titania gasped. A black shape with batlike wings lifted off of the roof and dived into the trees below.

“Daein wyverns,” Soren said. “As soon as they know we’ve crossed the river, they’ll be on our trail like hounds chasing a fox. Not to mention I’m fairly certain the Commander’s diversion ended up at that fort.”

“What makes you say that?”

Another wyvern with dull brown scales burst from the distant treetops with a gravelly scream; as it tried to gain height, two holes shot through its wings and it plummeted back into the leaves.

“Shinon,” Titania muttered.

Ike was still, watching the trees in the distance with the same pensive focus Titania had seen on Greil so many times in the past. He took a low, quiet breath, the only sense of nervousness in him betrayed by the slight twitch of his fingers.

Ike calmly went around Titania to gather the reins of two of the horses by the creek. He handed them to Elincia and Rhys.

“Get to Lionne,” Ike told them. “Titania, Soren, and I will meet you there with the Commander, and Shinon and Gatrie.”

“Brother, no!” Mist said, running up to tug on Ike’s arm. “I’m staying with you!”

“Mist, please, I need you to do this for me,” Ike said. Carefully he pried Mist’s fingers away, but he held them for a moment and looked her in the eyes. “We have to do things this way so everyone can make it out of here alive, all right? Don’t worry. I promise we’ll be back before you know it. Have Father or I ever broken a promise to you?”

Mist shook her head, lips pressed together.

“No,” she said quietly. “But be safe, okay?”

“We will. Oscar, can you and Boyd help get them to Lionne?”

“Of course,” Oscar said.

Oscar spared Titania a curious glance; Titania shook her head. Seeing those wyverns even at such a near distance had set the grim spark of unease back into her spine.

“You sure you don’t need a strong pair of arms to help _you_ out?” Boyd said, rolling one shoulder.

“I need you to keep Elincia safe,” Ike replied. “We’re all technically her bodyguards, so act like one.”

Boyd whistled smoothly, cocking a single eyebrow, but Ike had moved on to help Rhys and Oscar gather their things together. Titania checked the saddles on the others’ horses and finally got the injured horse to quiet long enough for her to wipe off the dried blood on its flank.

“We’re losing time,” Soren said, glancing between the road near the outcrop and the camouflaged fort past the trees. He’d stayed out of it while Ike was managing the rest of the group, but now he had come over to the creek beside Titania, holding his spellbook to his chest. “They could be dead in there for all we know.”

“We _are_ talking about the Commander,” Titania said. “I wouldn’t worry too much about him. He could hold back an army with nothing but Urvan in his hands.”

Soren made a doubtful-sounding hum. Titania shook her head and sighed.

“I will never understand your pessimism,” she told him.

“Pragmatism. Slight difference.”

 _Still far too young to be that jaded,_ Titania thought, keeping that to herself. The last thing she or anyone needed was another argument.

Ike joined them by the thin creek, the sound of crunching dirt and horses fading behind him. When Titania looked over her shoulder, she could see the rest of their company riding out for the road. The instant they had the space, they urged their horses into a brisk trot and were soon out of sight.

“Sorry for volunteering you two without asking,” Ike said. “But I figured we’d have a better chance of getting in and out of there with a smaller group.”

“No apology needed,” Titania said. “Greil left you in charge. He doesn’t apologize for his orders; you needn’t, either.”

Ike shrugged, keeping quiet. Soren scratched at the spot where Rhys had bandaged his arm.

Titania patted her white destrier and mounted back up in a smooth motion, adjusting the reins. The horse had picked up the tense energy among them and kept its head high and its ears pricked.

“…Let’s go,” Ike said, and the three of them crossed the creek into the thick woods once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quarantine is really getting to me, but i hope y'all are staying safe
> 
> thanks for reading


	14. Chapter 14

The Gallian fort was a weathered hulk of ash-gray stone. Lichen and mosses hugged its sides like the earth was trying to swallow it, and ivy crawled along the cracks in the walls. None of the windows were paned; branches from some of the larger trees nearby poked into the windows themselves. Even the roof was littered with old leaves and dirt that had composted there over the years.

Ike, Soren, and Titania crept through the woods until they reached the outskirts of the fort, staying low in the trees and letting the bright spring leaves obscure them. Gray clouds were beginning to roll in from the south and blur the sunlight, but that didn’t stop the light from glinting off of black armor and dropped weapons. Daein soldiers were lying in heaps near a wide entryway in the fort that was missing half its wooden door.

Several hulking scaly shapes were slumped across the grassy clearing surrounding the fort and had broken several smaller trees that were growing there. Ike’s eyes roved over crescent scales and heavy black claws, over spiny ridges and folded batlike wings. Deep red-black blood muddied the ground beneath the beasts and their fallen Daein riders. The animal closest to them was earthy brown and had arrow shafts sticking out of its wing membranes.

“Wyverns,” Soren explained lowly, as if anticipating Ike’s question. He pointed at one of the downed beasts and traced its telltale traits. “Two wings, two large hind legs that they use for balance, and a pair of much smaller forearms for picking apart meat. The bigger ones with four equally strong legs and bigger horns are proper dragons…be glad we don’t see any dracoknights here.”

“Seems like an awfully large force to seize an abandoned building,” Titania said from Ike’s other side. She’d dismounted and had looped the reins of her white destrier around a forked tree branch and was crouching beside Ike and Soren, peering at the fort. Greil’s own gray destrier was nowhere to be seen.

“They may have been sent to head off our escape,” Soren said. “If we’d delayed even an hour more, I guarantee that that wyvern corps would have reinforced the bridge we just crossed, and we would have never made it into Gallia alive.”

Ike grimaced, scanning the windows for signs of an interior fight. The clearing had been eerily quiet once he and the others had arrived—the wyverns had been dispatched before they got there—but the clang of clashing steel resonated dimly through the gaping windows.

A flash of ochre caught Ike’s attention from a window halfway up the wall. Ike shot up out of the bushes.

“There!” he exclaimed. “That was Father, I’m sure of it!”

He darted from the forest cover, one hand already on the pommel of his sword.

“Ike!” Soren and Titania called after him.

“There’s no one out here!” Ike said, spinning around to face them as he continued walking backward. “Come on, we need to help the Commander, and there’s no better time to get in there than right now!”

Titania shook her head and stood, Soren a step behind her, and they left cover.

Ike’s heel hit against the scaly head of a dead wyvern and he hastily spun around, tripping over his own red cloak—

—and nearly slammed into a slender girl with long violet hair and a cheeky smile.

“Woah, easy there, handsome!” she said, hopping back lightly on the balls of her feet. A slim sword in a black leather sheath hung at her waist. “I didn’t think Daeins did dance practice on gross battlefields.”

Titania caught Ike’s elbow before he completely fell over and let him regain his balance; she gave the strange girl a stern once-over.

“We aren’t Daeins,” Titania said.

“And we aren’t dancing, either,” Ike stammered. Soren rolled his eyes beside him.

The girl clapped her hands together once. “Blue hair, blue eyes, bit of a hothead… is your name Ike, by any chance?” she asked, pointing at Ike with a slender finger.

Ike furrowed his brow. “Yes?”

“Perfect! You’re just the folks Greil described!”

“You’ve seen F—the Commander?” Ike said. “Where?”

“More importantly,” Titania said, taking a step forward, “why did the Commander give you Ike’s description and send you out here? What’s your name?”

“Mia!” said the girl, sticking her hands into the pockets of her deep orange tunic. She’d chopped the sleeves off of it at some point and wore long black gloves that bunched at the elbow, along with matching black breeches with a small rip along the knee. Her round face was energetic and almost too bright for the obvious dead strewn around outside the fort. “Crimean army hired me to boost their numbers, but I slipped up and got captured about two days north of here—Daein was gonna send me to a prison camp, but big muscle Greil busted me out and said I could work for him instead, so he sent me outside to go find the rest of your group!”

Mia paused to take a breath and rocked back and forth on her heels, sword swinging beside her in its sheath. Behind her, a soldier in black armor tumbled out of a window with a yelp and fell with a crunch on the ground.

“Her story is dubious at best,” Soren murmured.

“‘Big muscle’?” Titania said skeptically.

“What? Guy’s got biceps for days,” Mia said. “He broke the lock on my cell door like it was a piece of hard candy!”

Ike glanced past her at the open doorway. Somewhere in there was his father—and Shinon and Gatrie, since their handiwork was evident all around the stone fort—and if the fight was still going, he had to get there and pull his weight.

“Do you know where our commander went?” Ike asked.

“I saw him head for the third floor before I took a secret stairway out of there,” Mia replied. “Got a couple of bodyguards with him, too. Real killer fellas. I can show you the way back up if you like!”

“No,” Soren said. He started to walk past Mia for the fort entrance.

“He meant ‘yes, that would be great’,” Ike said.

“No, I didn’t!” Soren called over his shoulder.

“Be nice,” Titania called, but Soren pretended not to hear her as he slipped into a shadow beside the broken door and waited on the threshold, glowering, for the rest of them. Titania sighed.

“You get used to him,” she told Mia.

“Not a problem,” Mia said, grinning lopsidedly. “I dealt with lots of bristly personalities in the army, and I’m _still_ a ray of sunshine. It takes more than one or two grouches to dampen my spirits!”

Around the far corner of the fort, Ike heard another hearty _thud_ as a dead Daein soldier was hoisted out a window onto the grass. He winced.

“You can use that sword, right?” he asked Mia.

“Absolutely! That’s what got me into the army in the first place.”

“Then we’ll gladly accept your help,” Ike said. “But I can’t guarantee you’ll be paid just because I’m letting you fight.”

Mia shrugged. “We can work out the details later. C’mon, let’s go kick some more Daein tails!”

She sprinted for the entryway, startling Soren so badly he darted into the actual fort just to get away from her. Ike and Titania jogged to catch up to them, unsheathing their weapons and watching the windows for any more unfortunate Daeins pretending to be wyverns.

“…Did I just make another horrible mistake?” Ike asked Titania under his breath as they crossed the threshold.

“Don’t let it worry you now,” Titania said. “What’s done is done. And, if the Commander helped that girl and told her to find us, then that decision was already out of your hands, right?”

“Right…”

“We’ll be fine,” Titania said. “Focus on the immediate, on what you _can_ change. And that means grabbing Soren before Mia chases him into an enemy lance.”

Ike scoffed at that, but he and Titania ran after Mia into the gray-lit fortress, footsteps resounding on the stone.

***

Elincia had to stop herself from looking over her shoulder every other minute.

They’d been riding south for a quarter of an hour now, and while the sun was still visible overhead, that warmth failed to reach her traveling companions. Rustling leaves sounded like wind spells. Crunching dirt underneath the horses’ hooves sounded like riders in pursuit. Elincia stiffened each time she caught a shadow moving in the forest on either side of the road and felt silly whenever they turned out to be chipmunks or fleet-footed rabbits.

_It will be fine,_ she told herself. _Master Greil is formidable, and lord Ike would never let harm befall us._

Mist kept a firm hold on the horse’s mane in front of her, but periodically she’d reach a hand to the secret pocket sewn into her shirt, tracing circles with her finger.

_Her medallion,_ Elincia remembered. _It must make her feel safe. Would that I had my own talisman to ward off insecurity…_

“Hello, hello! Hail and state your business!” came a bright voice from the trees above them.

Oscar reined in so sharply that his horse reared, throwing Boyd off to land flat on his back on the road.

“Ow, damn it, Oscar!” Boyd snapped.

“Who goes there?” Oscar said, scanning the woods. Trees overlapped above the road and laced their branches together like the back of an embroidery hoop, too tangled to see clearly.

Elincia felt Mist tense, and she hugged the girl close.

_They don’t_ sound _aggressive,_ Elincia thought, _but then again, master Greil sounds like a gruff old dog and is one of the nicest people I have met…_

“Just a patrol,” said the voice from the treetops, “checking on border affairs.”

“Can we talk face to face?” Oscar said. He loosened the lance from his saddle holster while he spoke. “I find it more conducive to parlaying when both parties can actually _see_ one another.”

“Certainly, my good beorc, but I’ll have to ask you to drop the spear.”

A large sky-blue cat with a white underbelly jumped down from the tree above them and landed nimbly ten feet away. Elincia’s and Rhys’s horses shied, tossing their heads.

Elincia gasped. This cat was as big as she was—were she on all fours, anyway—and was lithe and muscular as if ready to burst into a sprint at any moment. Deeper blue markings in geometric patterns adorned his shoulders and forehead and gave him a perpetually curious expression even as he kept his face neutral. Cloth wrappings covered his forelegs, and he stared up at Elincia calmly with mismatched eyes—one green, one plum.

“We don’t mean you any harm, we promise,” the cat said in perfect modern tongue, “but I _do_ need you to state your business, since we don’t really get Crimean citizens coming through this part of Gallia for an afternoon stroll.”

Elincia caught movement in the woods around her; more of these large cats in different shades emerged like shadows from the underbrush. Most had the same pale underbellies, but some were roan-speckled or shaded darkly along their paws, and all of them had different geometric markings like tattoos upon their fur. Their whiskers twitched. Their eyes judged.

Elincia met their gazes levelly with her chin held high.

“My name is Elincia Ridell Crimea,” she said before Oscar could interject, “and these are members of the Greil Mercenaries, a company whom I have entreated to help me. I seek King Caineghis of Gallia and request asylum. We are being pursued by Daein soldiers who wish harm upon myself and my companions.”

The sky-blue cat cocked his head. One of his ears flicked; the tan cat on his left kneaded her paws; a burgundy cat nearby nodded very slightly. The sky-blue cat then leaned back on his hind legs. In a flash of magic too quick to track, an athletic-looking young man straightened to his full height wearing the same cloth arm wraps as before, but with a sleeveless ochre shirt and dark blue pants tugged around the calf with linen leg wraps. Curiously, his ears remained a cat’s, and that same long blue tail with its white tip trailed behind him.

At once, he swept one arm across his chest and bowed low from the waist.

“My goodness, the King’s reports of your beauty were clearly lacking,” he said. “I am honored to meet Princess Crimea in the flesh. My condolences for your family and your country.”

Elincia bowed her head. Mist’s hands folded over her own on the reins and squeezed gently.

“And who might you be?” Oscar asked.

“How terribly rude of me! My name is Ranulf, warrior of Gallia—one of King Caineghis’s finest, at that.” Ranulf leaned back on his heels and winked a green eye at Oscar. “I apologize for jumping in unannounced. We heard of your situation and were sent north to investigate further on the chance we could intercept your party before things got out of hand.

“Again, my condolences, Princess,” he added in a more somber tone. “Daein proclaimed their official conquest two days ago. We thought none of the royal family had survived, but, clearly we were wrong.”

Rhys gently smoothed Rolf’s hair. Elincia tightened her arms around Mist.

“Our king ordered more border patrols as a result,” Ranulf continued. “My unit here was actually headed for the two-bridge crossing a mile or so north of here.”

“Don’t do it!” Mist said. “My brother—there were a ton of Daein soldiers there waiting for us, and we’re running from them right now, there’s so many of them and… well, they’re… scary.”

“Mist, c’mon,” Boyd said, “we trounced ‘em!”

“But there are more reassembling their ranks,” Oscar said to Ranulf. “Our commander led a small diversion east of the river crossing and is being joined by our deputy commander, tactician, and the commander’s son, but we’ve been charged with bringing the princess to Lionne to keep her safe.”

Ranulf scratched his cheek idly. “Lionne… not a bad town, if you had to pick one. Great kebabs. But they’re currently swamped—literally—with spring floodwaters that burst from an old dam further up the Silva River. I don’t think you beorc would be comfortable wading through ankle-deep mud.”

One of his ears twitched; at once, ten of the cats reverted to bipedal forms, men and women and bodies in between all dressed in shades of Gallian green.

“Allow some of my troop here to escort you to Gebal Castle,” Ranulf said. “It’s a common stop for travelers and visitors—it’s not staffed, but it’s defensible and spacious.”

“Could we possibly keep going to Castle Gallia?” Rhys asked. “I’m not sure how far it is from here, but if it would make it easier for Princess Elincia…”

Ranulf shook his head. “My apologies, but I’ll need to send a message to our king first and arrange a proper escort. You say there’s more of your merry band?”

“Six more, east of the bridges.”

“Yeah, that’s a lot of foreigners to parade through Gallia all at once,” Ranulf said, scratching the back of his head. “Gebal Castle is an easy quarter-day’s run southwest from here; on horseback you’d make it there with an hour or two of daylight left, I’d say. That storm looks like it’ll break overnight. You’ll want to be someplace dry, and there’s a fireplace in Gebal Castle that’s so big only tree trunks can heat the space properly.”

“Works for me,” Boyd said, eying one of the large cats surrounding them. “I need something to chop down after losing my axe, anyway.”

“Then how will you chop down the tree?” Rolf asked him.

“With my fists, obviously!”

Ranulf stifled a chuckle as he turned to his cats and conveyed instructions.

Oscar looked over to Elincia. It was often hard to see his dark brown eyes, but he was waiting on her for a final approval.

Elincia nodded.

“We will gladly accept your offer, my lord Ranulf,” Elincia said.

Ranulf bowed again. “Most excellent,” he said. “Kina is in charge of this subdivision—” He gestured to the large tan cat beside him— “and she will take you safely to Gebal Castle. Not a hair shall be harmed on any of your heads.”

“Truly?” Oscar said.

“On the honor of my King and the late King Ramon,” Ranulf said seriously.

The company paused to let a moment of silence fill the space between them. Kina rolled her feline shoulders and started down the road, beckoning with her tail for them to follow. The other nine cats Ranulf had set aside formed a circular guard around the horses, staying just out of range of the animals’ hooves.

Elincia reached a hand out to Ranulf as he walked past her with the other half of his unit.

“Thank you, truly,” Elincia said.

Ranulf took her hand in his and kissed it gently.

“The King was good friends with your late father,” he said, “and if we can help repay that kindness in any way, why, let it be ensuring the security of Ramon’s daughter. I’ll return with your other companions by nightfall.”

With that, Ranulf shifted back into a blue-furred cat in another quick flash of magic. He dug his claws into the dirt and sprang forward—the other cats raced after him on nearly silent paws and were soon out of sight around a patch of brush.

Elincia was quiet, letting Mist take over steering their horse. Gray clouds smothered the dappled sunlight that had been streaming through the treetops, and Elincia shivered.

_None of the royal family survived,_ she thought. Her body felt heavy, and she leaned forward against Mist, resting her chin against the younger girl’s head. _Father, Mother… my dear Uncle…_

Elincia screwed her eyes shut. Tears traced elegant lines down her cheeks and dropped soundlessly onto Mist’s hair.

“O, benevolent Ashera,” Elincia murmured, “give them your blessings…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the way my word document is formatted (12pt times new roman, 1.5 spacing) this thing is over 116 pages right now
> 
> i started this 3 months ago
> 
> good lord  
> \----
> 
> as always, thank u for reading and for kudos and nice words, things suck globally rn but im gonna do my best to keep making stuff


	15. Chapter 15

Ike kept his sword drawn in front of him as he and the others followed Mia through the old Gallian fort. The place had been abandoned for a long time—moss clung to any patch of moisture it could find, and the air was thick with the scent of must and mildew.

A leak in the ceiling dripped a spot of cold water on Ike’s head as he passed underneath it. He ran his free hand through his fluffy blue hair and tried not to shudder.

They’d reached the second floor when the trail of destruction became more apparent.

Black-armored Daeins lay strewn about the floor, pools of blood mixing with stagnant rainwater and seeping into the cracks between the stones. Someone had slumped over a window with a great cut across their back and was leaking blood over the outer wall. The only arrows Ike could see were those with broken shafts—unusable and, therefore, unpillageable by Shinon’s standards.

“We’re on the right track, at least,” Soren muttered. Ike nodded in agreement.

Soren had finally stopped bolting whenever Mia got within ten feet of him, and he’d slipped back in line to stay between Ike and Titania. As they went further into the fort, Ike would catch Soren glancing at every hidden alcove and crack in the old fort’s stones as if an enemy would suddenly burst from the shadows.

Muffled thuds came from the thick stone ceiling. Water dripped onto a cobweb hanging from an open doorway.

“Not much farther,” Mia said. “I had to pass this way to reach the stairs we came up earlier.”

Titania beckoned her to lead on; Mia hopped nimbly over the fallen soldiers, but Ike sidestepped more carefully, motioning for Soren and Titania to keep a respectful berth.

“Here!” Mia said, coming to a stop before a T-shaped intersection in the hallway. Down one side, yawning grates covered what appeared to be cells chiseled out of the stone, but all the doors were hanging by their hinges and broken metal lay scattered on the ground. “I was in that cell way down there, but I got to this corner when Greil told me to split.”

“Commander Greil,” Titania corrected gently.

“Right, sorry—Mister Big Ol’ Commander told me to split off and get a move on outside,” Mia said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I _think_ he went to the left, but I suppose if we start finding more dead bodies that’ll point us in the right direction. C’mon!”

Mia danced away before Ike or Titania could get a word in otherwise. Behind them, Soren grumbled something about caution and shook his head.

“…I hope she doesn’t run into an angry Daein’s spear while she’s playing tour guide,” Ike said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“That’s one way for her to repay whatever debt the Commander enlisted from her,” Soren said snidely.

“Soren,” Titania chided.

The far end of the hallway turned sharply to the right. Mia stopped in front of the boxy window set into the stones, framed by the gray-green light streaming in from outside. She waved.

“Come on, slowpokes!” she called. “Are we gonna save the day or not?”

“Better keep pace,” Ike said, starting forward. “I don’t think Father would be happy if we let a brand-new recruit get themself killed on their first mission…”

The bodies piled up the further along the left-branching hallway they went. Ike nearly slipped on a patch of slick fresh blood and had to catch Titania’s arm for support. Mia had slowed down once it became ever-clearer that they were on Greil’s trail, and her sunny smile had set into a firm line.

Another stone staircase loomed up ahead. Bright metallic _clangs_ rang out from the cavernous room at the top of the stairs. The sound made the hair on the back of Ike’s arms stand on end.

“That sounds like them,” Titania said lowly, checking the weight of her axe in one hand. “No doubt they’ve cornered the last of the Daeins who’ve invaded the fort, if the bodies we saw on our way were any indication of their total numbers…”

Soren squinted, standing on his tip-toes to try and see the floor that the stairs emptied out to. “We need to be careful not to announce our presence too early,” he said, “otherwise we will only cause problems for—”

“Charge!” Mia shouted.

She waved her slim sword above her head and raced up the stairs two at a time.

Ike balked and rushed in after her, Soren and Titania on his heels, and he barely had time to bring his sword up to block a Daein soldier’s axe the instant his feet crossed onto the third floor.

The hall they’d stumbled into was as long as the entire fort and was filled with sun-faded tapestries and furniture broken down from weather and neglect. Windows lined one entire wall; a curtain of greenery was the only thing visible, as branches had grown across from the forest and stuck their way into the fort itself. At one point, Ike figured the hall must have been an audience chamber for stationed nobility, but the only company it hosted now were a hundred-odd Daein soldiers and their bristling weaponry. They circled like wild dogs around three men trapped in the center; they jabbed and shouted, but no one was willing to cross the fifteen-foot distance they’d established around their prey.

Greil, Gatrie, and Shinon stood shoulder against shoulder in the center of the armored storm, bloody and bruised but very much alive.

Now that Mia had sounded the alarm, the Daeins on the fringe of their circle broke off to intercept, but to Ike’s amazement Mia moved like a trained dancer and left everyone in her way with wounds in the kinks of their armored plates.

“Titania, help her out—” Ike started, but his voice broke off as the axe-wielding Daein attacking him suddenly rushed him again. With a grunt, Ike stepped back and swung his sword up to block the strike. The weight of the blow sent a shock through his arms and he nearly dropped his own weapon; gritting his teeth, Ike pushed back and managed to force the Daein’s weapon arm to twist around and break the strike.

Ike heard a whisper of lyrical language whisk past his ear; a gust of sharp-edged wind knocked the soldier before him flat on their back with blood oozing from a neat slice across their face.

“Thanks,” Ike said breathlessly to Soren.

“Mm,” Soren replied, already singling out his next target among the throng. He licked his thumb and turned the pages of his spellbook to a diagram Ike had never seen before, focusing his attention on the weakest point in the Daein block.

“Stay close,” Soren said, and with another whispered phrase that sounded too beautiful to be a weapon, the page in Soren’s book tore itself to shreds as a gale knocked a path clean through the Daeins. They toppled over like chess pieces with shouts of surprise and the loud clatter of armor against the stones.

“Help the Commander!” Ike shouted, already racing for the opening before the soldiers could get back up.

He and Soren skidded to a halt just shy of Greil; Titania and Mia rushed in on their heels to fill out next to Gatrie and Shinon. The fallen Daeins regained their footing with angry curses and leveled their lances and swords.

“Hey, guys!” Gatrie said, grinning despite a gash in his forehead that was bleeding down over his cheek. “Nice of you to stop by!”

“Stop by—the hell are you doing here, Ike?” Greil shouted gruffly.

“Helping you,” Ike said, ducking the arrow-shaped tip of a soldier’s spear. He slashed a clean line across the man’s chest and let Titania finish him off. Ike wiped a trail of sweat from his forehead and stood so his left shoulder covered Greil’s right.

Greil shook his head. He brought Urvan down with a meaty thwack into an approaching soldier’s neck.

“I told you to keep the princess safe,” Greil said without glancing at Ike.

“I know,” Ike said, “she is—Oscar and Boyd and everyone else are taking her to Lionne, just like you asked. The only folks here are me, Titania, and Soren—oh, and Mia, too.”

A swing, a stab, a bright bloom of pain along Ike’s arm before he remembered to tuck his elbows in when he thrust.

Another fallen ghost.

“I was worried about you,” Ike said quietly. “We saw the wyvern corps from our hiding place past the river. The others are fine. I couldn’t go on until I knew you were okay.”

On his right, Soren winced as a Daein lunged with her axe and nicked him on the arm that Rhys had just bandaged. His speech fumbled over a spell.

Ike swung forward without thinking and thrust his sword into the offending soldier’s lungs. The soldier fell back with blood gurgling in her throat. Ike felt his face pale and forced himself to swallow although his mouth had gone dry.

_Don’t get distracted,_ he thought to himself. _Think about it later. Focus!_

“…You were worried, huh?” Greil said, voice like gravel. He shook his head slowly. “What am I to do with you… Alright, pup, keep your eyes sharp and your blade sharper. I’m not losing you in a place like this, you got it?”

Ike nodded firmly. The Daein soldiers kept their distance, darting forward whenever they thought they had a fair shot and falling to one of the Greil Mercenaries’ strikes.

“Hey, when we get out of this,” Gatrie said conversationally, “I’m gonna treat the whole company to beers and a feast, how’s that sound?”

“Shut up and pull your weight, then,” Shinon said. Ike could hear the few arrows left in Shinon’s quiver rattle as he pulled one out to nock.

All of a sudden, a sharp whistle echoed from the stairwell.

At once, the Daein soldiers stepped back two paces, shoulder straight and weapons snapped up to attention. Ike stared at them with a furrowed brow.

_What are they doing?_ he thought. _Don’t withdraw your weapons in the middle of a fight, that’s foolish—!_

Clipped footsteps crossed the threshold into the hall. Ike turned, trying to keep both Soren and his father in his peripheral vision.

A woman with long, sword-straight green hair and dangerous-looking eyes strode forward, clad in shades of Daein black with simple pauldrons and a chest plate. The steel heel on her black leather boots clicked like clockwork as she crossed the middle distance to stand at the edge of her throng of soldiers. She had an almost sickeningly supple grace, from the way she tilted her hip when she stood contrapposto to the casual way she rested her mahogany-shafted lance on the ground like it was a flagpole. A dark green thorn-like mark curled around the crook of her collarbone.

“Well, well, seems we’ve finally caught our little rats,” she said. “I admit, you’ve provided much more entertainment than I thought you would! Coming in here all bold and brash, thinking a measly force like yourselves could possibly overpower three platoons of Daein’s warriors. You certainly made a mess of the front lawn. I hope those sub-humans don’t find the smell of fresh blood _too_ appealing…”

“To whom are we speaking to who has such crass manners?” Greil growled.

“General Petrine, one of His Majesty’s finest commanders,” the woman replied. She clicked her tongue at the seven of them. “And I’m afraid my arrival marks your doom. You will not leave this place alive.”

Ike glared at her. Soren drew in a sharp breath, holding his injured arm tightly.

“What is it, Soren?” Ike asked in a hush. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Soren replied lowly, “but we’re in more trouble than we thought. If I’m not mistaken, this ‘Petrine’ is one of the Four Riders of Daein—the strongest military officers in the country. This is bad, Ike.”

Petrine caught the two of them conversing and flashed a feline grin.

“Ah, you’ve heard of me? How sweet,” she said, eyeing first Soren and then Ike with a predatory gleam. “Seems my reputation precedes me after all. All right, I’ll make this nice and easy for you—give me Princess Elincia, and I’ll give you a head start to escape before I slaughter you. It will simply do me no good to roast the girl along with you curs. I need a head to present to His Majesty, after all.”

She tapped her lance’s shaft against the stones. A spark of flame like embers from a stoked fire crackled off the curled metal edge at the top.

Ike tilted his chin up. “The princess isn’t here,” he said, willing his voice to stay steady. His arms ached; the cuts he’d sustained were starting to throb. “While you were wasting your time with us, she’s already made it safely across Gallia’s borders and has taken shelter among its people. You’ve lost.”

Petrine quirked an eyebrow at him.

“You expect me to believe that?” she said. She scoffed. “Reckless boy—never claim victory until you have it bleeding in your clutches. There’s no way mercenary scum like you could have outrun the forces I had stationed at the border.”

Ike felt his father’s hand on his shoulder as Greil moved forward, angling himself in front of his son.

“They say blind arrogance sows the field of its own destruction,” Greil said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I have a feeling they were talking about _you._ ”

Petrine’s face contorted in rage. She slammed the butt of her lance against the ground again and the blade lit up with a burst of orange and white flame.

“How dare you!” she spat. “Who do you think you are?”

“My name is Greil, leader of the Greil Mercenaries. If it’s a fight you’re looking for, I’ll take you on personally.”

“You’re the commander? Hah! You’re nothing but a sellsword. I don’t take challenges from fleas.”

“Let the rest of my company go, and I’ll show you how much this flea can bite.”

“Father, _don’t_ ,” Ike started, but Greil paid him no heed as he walked towards the surrounding soldiers. In a single blow, Greil swept his axe Urvan into two soldiers and flattened their chest plates with the impact. Before anyone else could leap for the opportunity, Greil rammed his elbow into one soldier’s chin and swung Urvan in a wide arc, buffeting back ten more people.

Petrine took a step back and lifted her lance. The blade burned so brightly Ike couldn’t look directly at it; the reflection of its firelight wavered on the Daeins’ armor like sunlight over a river.

“You’re a fool to think I’ll let you all escape,” she said, “but I suppose I can humor you. You’re a rather fine specimen, I admit—why don’t I take you back to Daein as a souvenir? His Majesty could always use new contenders.”

“You’ll have to beat me first,” Greil said, and he charged Petrine with Urvan in his hands.

Ike started forward, but the Daein soldiers surrounding them pressed forward with their weapons bared.

Petrine’s flame lance met Urvan with a burst of sparks.

“Titania!” Greil shouted, shoving Petrine back. “Get Ike and the others out of here, _now!_ ”

“Kill them! Don’t let a single one of them escape!” Petrine shouted over him.

The tension holding the Daein soldiers at bay snapped, and they rushed Ike and his companions with indiscernible battle cries. Ike kept himself in front of Soren and parried whatever blows he could manage, gritting his teeth at the cuts that nicked him every time he was careless. Mia had quit cracking wise and was taking cover behind Gatrie in order to tie a piece of ripped fabric around her shoulder. Shinon had run out of arrows and had his bowstring around someone else’s neck.

Guttural roars rent the air. Everyone, even General Petrine, froze in place.

“The hell was that?” Petrine said.

Greil’s axe swing nearly took her arm from its shoulder. Petrine fell back and swung with her lance, singing part of Greil’s cloak, but he pressed her back and back again towards a corner near the stairwell.

The weapons clashed. Fire arced from Petrine’s lance and set one of the wall tapestries ablaze.

The trees through the windows rustled. Ike felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge. Beside him, Soren drew in another sharp breath.

Before Petrine could level another swing at Greil, before Titania could shove a soldier back with her axe, before Soren could take a breath to speak the old tongue—

The cats pounced.

Cats leapt through the windows along the wall, cats as big as people and _bigger_ , to Ike’s shock—adorned with leg wrappings and strange tattoos and some with fangs long as daggers. They climbed up the trees outside and threw themselves into the fray with yowling war cries.

The Daeins immediately in front of Ike and Soren dropped their weapons and bolted for the stairs.

“Run!” they shouted. “Sub-humans!”

“Dog’s breath—get back here, cowards!” Petrine yelled after them.

She made to catch them before they reached the stairs, but Greil swiftly blocked her path. Petrine scowled.

The cats ran circles around the Daeins, herding them in panicked clusters around the hall—some of the Daeins threw themselves for the trees, and others stumbled over their feet trying to flee down the stairwell. A massive striped cat with a stiff crest of gray fur batted at one of the Daein soldiers with a single paw and knocked the woman’s helmet clean off.

One of the smaller cats, a sky-blue fellow with a white-tipped tail, leapt into a defensive position in front of Ike and Soren and bared his fangs at Petrine.

“Attention, Daeins!” he ordered, speaking perfect modern tongue—though with a bit of an odd accent, Ike caught. “If you value your lives, leave this place immediately and abandon your weapons. Fail to comply and you’ll be met with Gallia’s full strength!”

Petrine swung at Greil; Greil blocked the blow with Urvan’s heavy shaft, but the fire on Petrine’s lance burned him on the neck. Greil let out a pained shout

Ike held his breath. Whether it was the tension of the past ten minutes or accumulated blood loss, he was starting to feel faint.

“Threaten me all you like, kitty,” Petrine snapped, “but I am not retreating, let alone from a duel. I’d rather die in battle with my honor intact than return and have His Majesty execute me for failure.”

“He can do that?” Gatrie mumbled.

“You don’t want to know,” said the blue cat. His fur was standing straight on end, whiskers twitching.

Now that most of the Daein soldiers had fled, the ambient light from the level below could filter up the stairwell. Ike squinted, leaning against Soren to try and get a better look. For a moment, it seemed as if a bright burst of light had shone into the room at the bottom of the stairs.

“Ike?” Soren said.

Ike shook his head. “I’m just seeing things,” he said, but then—

A shadow thudded up the stairs.

Heavy steps announced its presence as easily as ringing a bell at a funeral. Petrine, with the burning tapestry behind her, tightened her grip on her lance.

Ike stood still, wide-eyed, as a knight in obsidian armor fringed in silver entered the room.

He was as broad-shouldered as Greil and just as tall, clad head to toe in armor so black it could have been forged from night. A blood-red cloak hung from his shoulders and whispered as it crossed the floor.

“General Petrine,” he said in a deep voice that echoed from within his helmet. “Stand down.”

All warmth from the room froze over at his command. The tapestry burning on the wall was the only sound that broke the tense silence. The Gallian cats’ tails fluffed up to twice their width, and their ears flattened against their heads. Greil maneuvered himself so he was in front of his company. His jaw was set in a firm line.

Petrine opened her mouth to speak and took two tries to get a word out.

“I-I am not finished here,” she started to say.

“I will explain things to the king. You have nothing to fear,” said the knight. “Leave.”

Petrine tapped her lance against the floor and snuffed out its fire. With one defiant glare at Ike and the rest of the mercenaries, she swept out of the room and down the stairs with a hurried clip to her steps.

The knight did not move. He stood where he was, body half-angled towards the stairs, his back to the windows. After a pause too deep to be accidental he turned his head away and threw a pinch of something at his feet.

Another burst of searing light. A whisper of malice on the wind.

The knight was gone.

A collective wave of jittery unease swept over those left in the hall, like everyone had been waiting to release their breath. The sky-blue cat trotted over to Greil and introduced himself, but Ike was stuck in place, still staring at the spot where the knight had vanished.

A chill had struck him in the heart the moment that knight had appeared and froze him slowly down his spine. It was impossible to see the knight’s face within that helmet, no way of knowing for sure where that unknown gaze had been looking, but Ike knew his father too well to dismiss the way he clenched Urvan with white knuckles and took a second too long to respond.

That knight had been looking straight at Greil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made a meme but ao3 won't let me embed images so i.imgur.com/P1JXleo.png


	16. Chapter 16

Without the immediate threat of Daein soldiers at their throats, the ambient tension in the room began to dissipate like smoke in a stiff breeze. The tapestry set ablaze during the fight had burned through its ties and fell to the ground in a smoldering heap. Standing loosely in a ring around the Greil Mercenaries, the large Gallian cats watched them warily with twitching whiskers and waited for orders from their commander.

Soren folded his arms across his waist. His injured arm stung, but he’d rather bear the pain silently than show any weakness in front of these half-breeds.

The sky-blue one had reverted to a humanoid form and was addressing Ike now. Commander Greil was looking out towards the stairwell; he’d apparently delegated the conversation to his son. Greil began to walk slowly towards the spot where that strange black-armored knight had disappeared. His face was, as ever, a mask that even Soren had trouble reading.

“Are you one of Gallia’s sub-humans?” Ike asked the cat-man. “Thank you for your aid.”

The cat-folk’s ears twitched, and his smile strained at the corners of his lips. His tail flicked subtly behind him to ease the growls building in the throats of his retinue.

“ _Sub_ -human,” he said, adding a bite to the beginning of the term, “my, what arrogance it takes to coin such a term!” He put his hands on his hips and drummed his fingers. “You see yourselves as the only ones worthy of the term ‘human’, and thus we laguz must be beneath you? I admit I’d wanted to engage in a civil discussion over terminology between laguz and beorc, but I hadn’t planned on it being right after chasing invaders off our soil.”

Soren’s eyes narrowed. His fingers brushed against the spine of his spellbook.

“Ah—I’m sorry, then,” Ike said. “I wasn’t aware of any other name to call you. I apologize for offending you. Laguz—is that more appropriate?”

The cat-man’s brow shot up in amusement. All at once the tension from his smile melted away with the grace of a traveling performer.

“Well, now, a beorc who shows manners!” he said. “Today is _full_ of surprises!”

Ike rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. Titania was oddly quiet, too, letting Ike handle the challenge of negotiating. Greil was well away from the conversation, bent down to run his thumb along a few stones on the floor, lost in his own thoughts.

Soren held his tongue and tried not to look at the laguz. The cut on his arm was starting to make his sleeve sticky. He reluctantly let his fingers drop from his spellbook.

“My name is Ranulf,” said the cat-folk, bowing from the waist. The white tip of his tail flicked in a friendly manner. “I’m one of Gallia’s warriors. It is an honor to meet your acquaintances. Princess Crimea has excellent taste in hired help, I must admit.”

“You know the princess?” Ike said.

“Briefly—we crossed paths along the thoroughfare south leading from the two-bridge crossing. She’s the one who requested Gallian assistance for your mercenary company, actually. When you arrive at Gebal Castle you can thank her yourselves.”

“That’s a relief,” Ike said. “My name’s Ike, by the way, and this is our deputy commander Titania, our tactician, Soren, and…”

Ike introduced every member of their present company to Ranulf, who gave each of them a friendly nod. When his mismatched eyes met Soren’s, Ranulf’s brow furrowed for the fraction of a second before he nodded at Soren and continued with the introductions. Soren kept his arms firmly crossed.

 _Charm won’t work on me,_ he thought. _You’re just like the others. The sooner we’re out of this place, the better._

In bursts of bright magic, the retinue Ranulf had brought with him shifted out of their four-legged forms. They stretched their arms and cracked their knuckles, looking like a bunch of humans who’d decided to wear tails and triangular ears for the fun of it.

One of the cat-folk peered queerly at Soren and leaned to their companion. They held up a hand and whispered into the other’s ear; and, like nothing had happened, the two looked past Soren at something more interesting on the wall behind him.

Soren’s fingernails dug into the scarf around his waist.

The cats wouldn’t bother him. They never did.

“…to bring you along and let you rest there in the meantime,” Ranulf was saying to Ike. “The other half of your company should be there by now; if we leave soon we can ensure your arrival before sundown.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. Right, Commander?” Ike said, looking for his father.

Greil was still crouched over the stones, looking for answers hidden in the mortar.

“…Commander?” Ike said.

Greil’s shoulders stiffened. He stood up, running a hand through his cropped hair.

“What is it?” he asked, coming back to their circle.

“Ranulf was saying there’s a castle nearby that Oscar and the others went to,” Ike explained, his brow slightly furrowed with open concern. “Is everything alright?”

“I was just thinking,” Greil said brusquely.

“…Okay,” Ike said, turning back to Ranulf. “Which way is the castle?”

“South-by-southwest,” Ranulf said, leaning back onto his heels, “but I’ll guide you there myself.”

“Don’t go through the trouble,” Greil said. “If it’s nearby, we cross the stream due south and keep on past the ravine. It’s Gebal Castle, right?”

Soren let out a small breath of relief, but it was short-lived. Ranulf waved a hand casually.

“Yes indeed, but I’ll come along anyway,” Ranulf said. “I need to escort Princess Elincia to our King, but she looked like she needed a break. I shan’t overstay my welcome, though—once I ferry you all to Gebal Castle I shall take the princess and bring her safely to Zarzi on my honor as a Gallian.”

Soren swallowed down a grumble; Ranulf’s ear twitched, though he didn’t spare Soren another glance.

“If you insist, then we won’t refuse the extra set of eyes,” Greil said.

“Sharpest in the King’s ranks,” Ranulf said. “And if it’s not overly presumptuous, I’ll have food sent to you as well once we reach the castle.”

“We’d appreciate it. The road has been long, and we ran out of more appetizing rations several days ago.”

“Then I’ll have it arranged,” Ranulf said with another bow. With a few gestures he had half his retinue jogging for the stairwell to scout ahead and the other half neatly in formation behind the mercenaries in a Gallian rear guard.

“By your leave,” Ranulf said to Greil, inclining his head.

Greil grunted and set off. Shinon and Gatrie bullied their way to the front, and Ike and Titania came in behind them. Mia had wandered into the read guard and was striking up conversation with one of the cat-folk as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Soren hugged his arms tighter around his waist and hid in Ike’s shadow. Ike maneuvered around until he was walking side-by-side with him and nudged Soren gently in the shoulder.

“You okay?” Ike said quietly.

_No._

Soren shrugged.

“Let’s just get going,” he said instead.

Ike frowned, but he didn’t press the issue. As they headed into the stairwell Soren caught himself looking over his shoulder at the spot on the ground where that knight had vanished into thin air.

Nothing but stone and mortar. No sigil, no spell, nothing but the permeable sense of unease.

The other cat-folk stepped into Soren’s peripheral vision and he turned away, letting the dim gray light of the fort smother him.

***

Gebal Castle was a sight for sore eyes and a respite for weary muscles.

Ranulf had kept true to his word; they’d reached the castle before sundown and were greeted by Oscar, Mist, Boyd, and the rest of their mercenaries. Ike had swung Mist around in a great hug that lifted the girl off her feet and only set her down when she threatened to yank the bandana off his head.

Soren held back. The moment he was able, he slipped away from conversation and hid himself in the castle’s winding passages. The stones were smoothed by sandpaper and bore claw-marks where the edges met mortar. Hooked rugs that looked like they’d been pulled with giant crochet hooks covered the floors in several of the proper rooms, and hanging from iron-rimmed windows were charms made from feathers, sinew, and bones. The castle itself was woefully out of maintenance—cobwebs clung to the corners and dust lounged in empty rooms—but it had a certain rustic charm to it.

Not like Soren cared. Here was a dry roof and an impractical fireplace in the main living room, here was a place to collect his thoughts and assess their next move. Nothing more.

The other cats had departed for the border once they’d all safely left the fort. While one sub-human was far better than twenty, Soren had still blocked out Ranulf’s chatter on the trek down and focused his attention on reading the winds.

 _Storm coming soon,_ he'd calculated along the road. _Should break within the next eight hours._

The clouds congealed thicker and thicker as the evening wore on. Food arrived half past eight, carried by a handful of cat-folk, and while the sounds of laughter and conversation bubbled from the commandeered kitchen, Soren walked the entire grounds of the squat castle checking for flaws in its security. When he’d counted all the broken window latches and doors that didn’t lock, he handed Titania a neatly-written list of defects and disappeared. He dressed and bound the cut on his arm himself with Rhys’s supplies while their healer was preoccupied playing a card game in the living room and then headed upstairs.

He found Ike sitting on a broad window seat overlooking the woods.

The windows on the second floor were arched into a point like a lily petal and folded out in two panes from the center, wrought with iron and reasonably safe from arrows. Ike had wrenched both of them open and sat with his legs stretched out in front of him on the seat, turned towards the forest and its whispering treetops, lit softly from behind by horn sconces along the hall.

Humid night air drifted in through the windows. Soren took a deep breath and crept closer.

Ike noticed him approach and scooched back on the seat, pulling his legs up to give Soren enough room to sit at the other end of the window seat with his own legs folded to his chest. Their ankles bumped into each other.

Ike turned again to the forest. Soren followed. They sat there in comfortable silence for what felt like an hour, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness outside. The moon was full, and it would peer at them through gaps in the rolling gray clouds as if too shy to show its face.

Soren was starting to lose the feeling in his toes when Ike finally spoke:

“You weren’t at dinner.”

Soren fidgeted with the dressing on his arm, hidden under the long sleeve of a fresh shirt.

“I wasn’t hungry,” he said automatically.

“Promise me you’ll eat something before bed,” Ike said. “I don’t mean to nag like Titania does, but I noticed you’d been skipping meals for the past few days.”

“We needed to conserve rations,” Soren said. The treetops murmured as another humid breeze rustled the canopy. Below him, the yellow glow of a fireplace downstairs illuminated part of the castle’s front yard.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can stop taking care of yourself. Oscar set aside a portion for you in the kitchen. Make sure to get it before Gatrie helps himself to a midnight snack.”

“Mm.”

Gentle silence. Minutes rolled by. An owl hooted somewhere in the trees.

Soren heard Ike take a long breath in and let it out slowly, saw Ike’s fingertips tense along the rough stone windowsill in his peripheral vision.

“I’ve killed eleven people.”

Soren looked at him. The fires in the wall sconces were still burning, and they cast Ike’s face in shadow from the hard set of his brow to the pinch at the corners of Ike’s eyes.

Soren reluctantly turned back to the woods.

“Does it bother you?” he asked.

“A bit.” Ike’s voice was quiet, like he was talking to the window, but Soren could hear every word. “I keep telling myself not to think about it. That if I shove it away and don’t look at it, then the people I killed by my own hand won’t become ghosts. I don’t know if it’s working.”

“Don’t become immune to it,” Soren said. _Don’t become like me._ “Someone who kills without remorse is kin to a demon and nothing better. And you’re no demon, Ike.”

Ike shrugged, still facing the window, but his posture relaxed enough for his calves to bump against Soren’s. Soren scooched back on the window seat and made himself as small as possible.

“I guess it shouldn’t surprise me,” Ike continued. “Who knows how many people my father has killed in his time as a mercenary? Or Titania, Oscar, Shinon, even Boyd.”

“Shinon is a coward,” Soren said with a derisive snort. “He never has to look his target in the eye before taking a life.”

“What about you?”

The question was so small, yet it made Soren pause. He was suddenly grateful for the night, for the sconces behind him that let him hide in their shadow.

“…I do what I have to so I can ensure the safety of the company,” Soren said. “I do not feel guilt for taking the life of someone who would have taken mine if given that chance. Mercenary work—”

“—is dirty work, I know,” Ike said. He smiled wanly. “I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.”

“Possibly.”

The winds were picking up; Soren leaned forward to stick his head out the window. A few silky strands of black hair fell past his shoulder.

 _Storm’s getting closer,_ he thought. _It’ll break soon…_

Ike was still staring out at the clouds. A beat of distant thunder rolled like a drum.

“Ike?” Soren asked.

“Why was she so interested in him?”

Ike turned to look at Soren, and his blue eyes were dim with doubt.

“General…Petrine, that was her name, right? She saw Father as a trophy to bring back to her king. That he’d execute her for failure.”

“Daein ranks its officers on physical prowess,” Soren explained. “King Ashnard started the current tradition eighteen years ago when he came to power. He takes the strongest people from across Tellius and makes them fight one another in battles to the death. Those who survive are elevated to Rider status and command legions far beyond what they could accomplish through bureaucracy alone.”

“That’s awful.”

“Maybe, but it’s effective. The old Great Riders of Daein had a similar foundation, minus the ‘battles to the death’ aspect of status ascension. Of the four, only Bryce retained his position.”

Ike cracked a humorless smile. “You sound like a professor,” he said.

Soren felt the tips of his ears burn.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Ike said, backpedalling, “but your voice gets this rhythmic sort of cadence when you’re explaining things. Like when you tell battle plans to Father or relay directions to me or Mist.”

“I… thank you?” Soren said.

Ike shrugged lopsidedly and looked out at the woods again. He sighed and picked at a bit of lichen on the windowsill.

“You seem awfully preoccupied tonight,” Soren said.

“I can’t shake the feeling that something’s… I don’t know, wrong, somehow,” Ike said. “Especially since that black knight showed up just to tell General Petrine to retreat and then vanished. Father seemed distracted. Even at dinner he was staring out towards the woods like he was half-expecting someone to emerge. It’s not like him.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Soren said. “The weather could simply be making him uneasy. Heavy rainstorms have the ability to severely alter any kind of schedule, travel or otherwise.”

He reached an arm out the window to catch the window pane on his side and pull it inward, slipping his fingers around when it came close to the sill so they wouldn’t get crushed. With a sharp tug he closed the latch; firelight from the wall sconce reflected back at him from the glass.

“I guess,” Ike said, leaning out to pull the other window pane back in. “Do you know when it’ll break?”

“Within the next two hours.”

Ike untangled his legs from the window seat and stood, moving back a few paces so he could stretch his arms all the way above his head. He let them fall to his sides with a whuff of a breath.

“I guess it’s getting late,” he said. “I’m not really tired, but I should try to sleep anyway. Remember, food’s in the kitchen for you.”

“Sure.”

Soren waited until the lights downstairs were doused and the company had dispersed to their temporary beds before he crept to the kitchen. He found the plate Oscar had left him underneath a second plate to shield it from insects: venison and crispy fiddleheads with some kind of berry jam. He picked at the food with his fingers and left most of it uneaten.

The castle was a slumbering beast without the warmth of its wall sconces or fireplaces lighting the way. Soren padded silently along the main corridor to his own adopted quarters.

One of the windows downstairs hadn’t been shut properly. Soren tugged it closed and latched it shut.

He squinted. It almost looked like Greil was standing out on the castle steps. Urvan was leaning against a stone fence.

 _…That’s his business,_ Soren thought, turning away. _If the Commander wants to act as the company’s watchdog for the night, who am I to stop him?_

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive been trying to stay positive and not feel like an idiot or that im stupid for writing this fic, harder than it sounds haha. sure love depression & general mental unease bc of covid
> 
> thanks for reading, stay safe


	17. Chapter 17

Ike lay awake that night staring up at the shadows along the walls. The room he’d taken at Gebal Castle was a modest bedchamber on the second floor and was hung with more of those odd feather-and-bone charms by loops of thread tacked into the ceiling. The linens were slightly rough to the skin, and rather than get underneath them Ike had decided to lie on top of them and a few densely-woven blankets that had been folded inside a chest.

He’d closed his eyes. He’d counted all the feathers in the hanging charms. He’d tried humming the little song Mist would sing sometimes, as if it could lull his worries away.

But sleep eluded him. A small, insistent little knot of thorns had nestled alongside his heart and threatened to crack his ribcage the longer he let it fester.

Something was wrong.

 _Maybe I’ll get something to eat,_ he thought as he slung his legs over the side of the wood-frame bed and buckled his sword belt over his cotton breeches. He ran a hand through his fluffy hair and sighed, rubbing his eyes. His blue-and-gold tunic shirt was folded over the back of a chair carved with lions’ feet, and Ike shrugged it back on even though the patches where he’d washed out some blood earlier were still a bit damp. He left the strip of green cloth normally tied around his forehead where it lay.

Ike poked his head out into the hallway—not a soul in sight—and crept to the stairs, following them down and flinching whenever his leather boots creaked. His sword bumped against the wall as he rounded the bend, and Ike pressed a hand against it to still it.

 _Why am I so nervous?_ he thought. He took a moment and breathed in and out, listening to the crypt-like silence of the castle. _No one’s going to fault me for sneaking a midnight snack. Soren’s right, I’m probably just feeling off because of the coming storm._

The kitchen was down a long corridor lined with iron-paned windows like the ones upstairs, pointed into delicate lily petals and facing out towards the woodlands down the hill. Ike headed for the kitchen, but a shape out of the corner of his eye made him pause. He crossed to the window and peered out into the gray darkness.

_Is that…?_

His father’s figure was impossible to misplace, even on a night where the full moon dipped in and out of sight from brewing stormclouds. Greil was out in the yard in front of Gebal Castle, Urvan loosely held in his right arm, facing the woods. Ike watched as Greil suddenly hefted Urvan over his shoulder and started walking for the forest.

_Wait—_

Ike’s stomach went tight, his kitchen detour forgotten as he rushed for the heavy door that led to the yard and let himself out. He barely remembered to tug the door shut behind him before he scrambled down the hill, scattering pebbles in his wake, sword awkwardly bumping against his thigh.

Greil had heard him and was already half-turned towards his son, that great battleaxe a cutting shadow illuminated by pale moonlight. He didn’t speak until Ike had closed the distance.

“What in the world are you doing up, Ike?” Greil asked.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Ike replied. He straightened, tilting his shoulders back and trying to look a little more collected than he felt. “I saw you start to leave the castle—where were you going? I thought we weren’t sending anyone scouting until an hour before dawn…”

“My wandering is none of your concern, pup.” Greil’s voice was the gravel of a mortar grinding the husks of dried spices. “Go back inside and get some sleep. You’re too young to be pulling all-nighters playing sentry like your old man here.”

Ike’s nostrils flared. _Too young. You’re too green, too inexperienced, no wonder no one in the company really respects you, you take unnecessary risks and have nothing to show for it but beatings and bruises, you won’t ever be ready to be a leader at this rate—_

Greil had already started towards the tree line when Ike grit his teeth and walked up beside him.

“I’m not a child anymore, Father,” Ike said. “I’m a part of your company, too, and I’ll do as I see fit—and that means coming with you on whatever late-night patrol you’ve decided to set up for yourself.”

Greil grunted and lifted Urvan off his shoulder, letting the double-headed axe rest its head upon the ground. He held Ike’s blue eyes for what felt like an eternity, the nicks and scars along his stubbled chin increasingly apparent the longer Ike stared. But Ike refused to look away. Greil sighed.

“You always were too stubborn for your own good,” he muttered, shaking his head. He readjusted his grip and lifted Urvan so it would swing close to his boots instead of over the shoulder. Tilting his chin at the woods, Greil added, “Fine, you can come along for a bit. But you’re not sticking around the whole time, you got it?”

Ike nodded, making a little noise of affirmation. Greil shook his head again and led the way into the woods.

The trail Greil set out on was an old deer trail that had been widened for Gallian laguz—wide enough for two people to walk abreast, but with Greil’s broad shoulders and Urvan’s sharp edges Ike had to awkwardly shuffle in and out of Greil’s peripheral as the trail widened and narrowed. The trees arched over them and cast the world in black-and-gray shadows. Whenever the wind blew, the undersides of the leaves flashed like silver fish in a river, and several new leaves not yet tethered to their branches were plucked loose and tossed into the mercy of the open air. Crickets silenced their serenades as the two men passed. Ike’s red cloak snagged on a pricker bush and he yanked it free so hastily it tore a small hole in the fabric.

“Where’s your shoulder brace?” Greil asked casually. He’d waited for Ike to catch up, moving on with a deliberate slowness to his step.

“I—left it back at the castle,” Ike said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I brought my sword with me at least.”

“Mm. Whenever you leave camp, even to scout, always bring some form of armor.”

Ike nodded, casting a quick glance at his father. Greil wasn’t just outfitted for a walk in the woods—the man had a leather vest over his traveling clothes and fresh linen wrappings around his wrists for stability. The burn on his neck that Petrine had landed earlier that day was padded with gauze.

Ike stepped carefully over a tree root, lapsing into tense silence. Far to the south, thunder rumbled like a beast waking from slumber.

“…Father?”

“Hm?”

“Is this a test?” Ike asked. The words suddenly rushed out of him. “Seeing if I would notice you standing outside the castle doors, if I could stand up to you when you told me off, checking my equipment, you’re—this is a test to see if I’m really still good enough to be in the company.”

He took a short breath. That thorn in his chest dug in a little deeper.

Greil slowed to a stop beside a lichen-covered boulder jutting out into the trail. He set Urvan down with its handle leaning against the rock and faced Ike fully, ochre cloak trailing onto the leaf litter behind him.

Slowly, he shook his head.

“No, Ike, this isn’t a test,” he said. “Not everything I do is a check on your personal mettle.”

“Then why make me wait for years and years before I could be a real part of the mercenary company? You’d been training me with a sword for years. You knew I had enough skill.”

Greil’s eyebrows twitched. He had one hand on Urvan’s handle and he drummed his calloused fingers along the polished wood.

“You’ve grown as a fighter over the years, pup,” he said, “but _leadership_ takes time and patience to develop. Remember what you did the moment you had a bit of green-recruit ego? You ran off and endangered yourself, your sister, and Boyd and Oscar’s little brother because you ignored your deputy commander and rose to the bait of a group of common thugs.”

Ike could feel his cheeks start to burn and was grateful the woods were shaded enough that his father hopefully couldn’t see. Greil held up his free hand before Ike could speak further.

“I wasn’t barring you from the company because of your skill with a blade,” Greil said. “I kept you from it because I love you and your sister too much to let you get killed on my watch. Elena would never forgive me.”

Ike paused. There was something raw in his father’s voice just then, something that sounded so weary and heavy that it quieted the other thoughts in his head and made the bad feeling in his chest ache just a little more.

“I’m not immortal, Ike,” Greil said. “Your old man is just trying to do what he thinks is best for his family—you and Mist, Titania and Soren, and all the rest of those misfits. I thought that by keeping you out of it, I could spare you some of the hardship. Fighting all the time, day after day… it changes a person. You still have some of Elena’s sweetness in you. I didn’t want to be the one responsible for ruining that.”

“…Soren told me something similar the night he came back from Melior,” Ike said quietly. “That he was worried being a mercenary would be difficult for me because of how… open I am with my emotions.”

Greil snorted. “He’s observant, that one. Can read you like one of those books he’s always got his nose in. I shouldn’t have expected anything different; you two have always gotten along well.”

Ike let himself smile, but it was short-lived. That thorny bundle of unrest in his chest was digging into him. Greil didn’t seem to notice. His face was granite, his eyes chips of mica that flashed when the moon peeked around the oncoming clouds.

Greil picked up Urvan and kept walking. Ike kept pace. The trail bent slightly to the left, and Greil held up a leafy branch for his son to pass under before letting it fall.

“What do you remember of your mother?” Greil asked casually.

“Not much,” Ike admitted, taken a little by surprise. “She was kind, and she loved birds. She held my hand whenever I had nightmares. But I don’t remember a whole lot else—and you’ve never talked much about her, either.”

He frowned. Even trying to recall those memories now, it was like finding a crocus in the middle of a foggy field—everything clouded with a sense of perpetual forgetfulness. A voice sweet as honeysuckle. Blue eyes that held the sky. A ghost, a phantom of a presence that had once held him while he slept and was now no more than an echo in the wind.

“Why do you ask?” Ike said.

“No reason in particular,” Greil replied. “When you get to be my age, you find a bit of reminiscing doesn’t hurt from time to time.”

Ike waited for Greil to elaborate, but his father had lapsed back into reticence, picking his way deliberately further and further along the trail. They reached a stand of crooked birch trees when Greil stopped and held Urvan out to block Ike from stepping up beside him.

“Father?”

“Go back to Gebal Castle, Ike,” Greil said, still looking out towards the woods beyond.

Ike stood on tip-toes and tried to peer over his father’s shoulder—he could barely make out a clearing in the distance past the birches. A fell wind knocked the branches of the overhanging trees together and made them rattle like teeth.

“Why?” Ike said. “Is something out there?”

“For once, just do as you’re told, pup!” Greil said with a sudden sharpness to his tongue that made Ike flinch back. Greil’s fingers tightened around Urvan’s grip. “Return to Gebal Castle immediately. That is a direct order.”

“I—”

“A _direct order_ , _pup!_ ” Greil snapped, whipping his head around.

Ike backed up into the rough bark of a birch tree and willed his heart to stop beating like a panicked animal. His father’s eyes were hard and fierce. Ike met them for only a second and reluctantly lowered his gaze to the forest floor.

“…Fine,” Ike said.

He took a breath, mouth open slightly to say something more, but no words came. Without waiting for another admonishment Ike retreated along the trail until he’d left the silhouette of his father far behind him, kicking pebbles as he went. A red fox crossed in front of him on the trail with a vole dangling from its mouth. Ike stopped short. He rested one hand on the pommel of his sword and clenched his fingers around it like a vice.

The fox stared at him with its eerie golden eyes and flicked its tail dismissively before trotting into the underbrush with its kill. Ike let out a tense breath.

 _It’s just a fox,_ he thought. _Calm down. What did Soren say about them? Uhm… red foxes are nocturnal predators from the canine family, I think, but they act more like cats because they… they leap at their prey instead of chase it?_ He shook his head. _I wish I had half the memory Soren does, he told me this a few months ago and already I’m having trouble keeping it straight._

Somewhere in the winding woods behind him came the sharp clash of steel.

Ike’s throat went dry. Thunder rolled ever closer from the south, and with it came another muffled _clang_ of metal on metal.

 _Something’s wrong,_ Ike thought, heart racing. _Something’s wrong and it’s not just the storm—!_

Ike licked his lips and swallowed once, nervously, before he dug in his heels and raced back along the trail towards the place he’d left his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i made a mockup of a book cover as if this was a real novel for funsies (twitter.com/earthtonequeen/status/1261845784150052864)


	18. Chapter 18

The Black Knight stood alone in the center of the clearing.

Greil entered the wild-grass field with firm steps. The Black Knight knew he was here; there was no sense hiding his presence now that Ike was out of sight. Greil’s fingers clenched around Urvan’s wood handle. He couldn’t immediately hear signs of pursuit, nor see a glimpse of any red cape other than the Black Knight’s. Greil let the smallest bit of tension leave his body.

Ike had had that fiery look in his eyes when Greil told the boy off—the look that promised trouble despite obedience. But he’d left. And that was enough.

_He’d better listen to me this time,_ Greil thought with a grimace. _For_ once _, pup, just do as you’re told…_

Greil narrowed his eyes at the Black Knight.

_…because this is not your fight._

“Gawain,” said the Black Knight cordially. His voice was deep and hollow within that helm, a lone animal within a cave. “I was unsure you’d actually come.”

“Warp powder leaves a foul taste on the wind if you know how to sense it,” Greil said, not bothering to hide the brewing thunder from his tone. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me in peace, and I thought it better to take matters into my own hands before you came knocking on my door. What business do you have here?”

The Black Knight crossed his palms over the hilt of his great silver sword, pressing the tip of the blade into the loam. The sword was so tall that his hands still rested at his breastbone. A humid breeze set his blood-red cape drifting around his ankles.

“I wished to have a conversation with a former Great Rider,” he said.

“Bullshit,” Greil growled.

“No need to be so harsh.”

“If you wished to have a ‘conversation’, you had plenty of time after sending your little dog Petrine running with her tail between her legs,” Greil said. “Only one thing would send Daein’s shadow Rider after me.”

“Ah, then we need not waste any more of your precious time,” said the Black Knight. He lifted one hand from his sword hilt and held it out expectantly, palm up. “You know what I seek. I request you hand it over of your own volition before I’m forced to persuade you.”

The hairs on the back of Greil’s neck rose like hackles.

“…I threw it away,” he said through gritted teeth. “And even if I didn’t, there’s no way in hell I’d let you get your blood-stained hands on it.”

The Black Knight scoffed; his fingers curled back onto an empty palm. His eyes were impossible to see, but Greil _knew_ they were boring into him with nothing short of disdain.

“Gawain, you must try better than that to fool me!” said the Black Knight.

“Do _not_ call me that,” Greil said.

“Right, ‘Sir Gawain’, a name you had cast away as surely as you’d cast away the medallion,” the Black Knight said, shaking his head. “You’ve grown skilled at believing your own lies.”

Suddenly he lifted the great silver sword in one hand and leveled it at Greil. Even after years, Alondite could still cut moonlight as easily as cutting water. Neither nick nor scratch adorned that ancient blade.

“Perhaps you’ll be more compliant after I defeat you in a duel?” the Black Knight asked. “It _has_ been over ten years, after all. I should like to see you at your best.”

Greil’s hand tightened around Urvan. The muscles in his right forearm twitched; the faint light from the moon peeking through clouds was enough to see a jagged scar running down the underside of his arm like a river hastily carved around rapids.

The Black Knight did not seem to notice. He waited expectantly for an answer.

“Someone ought to remind you of your place,” Greil snarled. “Daein’s avarice has no right to the medallion. If you won’t take a simple refusal, I’ll send you back to your master with a bloody suit of armor.”

He hefted Urvan up into both hands, letting the weight of the axe center him.

The Black Knight made a derisive noise and reached behind his back, withdrawing a golden sword from under his red cloak.

Greil’s eyes widened.

For a moment, the Black Knight was an image out of history: twin swords too long for one of ordinary strength to wield in each hand, their blades unmarked by wear or the passage of time. The illusion broke as the Black Knight tossed the golden blade towards Greil like it weighed nothing more than a sack of flour. The sword sank blade-first and quivering into the soil two paces to Greil’s left.

Greil flinched when it hit the ground. He made no move to claim it.

“Your sword,” the Black Knight said, gesturing at it with the tip of his silver blade. “Alondite should duel her twin. Ragnell has been waiting for her wielder for so long, it’s only appropriate, after all.”

“You think I care to stand on ceremony?” Greil snapped.

“I think you care not to face your own death so brashly.”

“Such big talk,” Greil said, shaking his head. “The only weapon I need is right here.”

He stepped back into his stance, readying Urvan. A few drops of rain had collected on the flat side of its axe heads. Humid mist clung to Greil’s leather vest.

_I will not let him harm my family_ , he thought. He snarled at the Black Knight like a wolf ready to chase a bear away from his den.

“…Do you wish to die, then?” said the Black Knight, withdrawing silver Alondite.

“I wish to _live!_ ” Greil shouted.

He charged.

Years of mercenary work had honed his muscles, but years of enigmatic knighthood had honed the Black Knight to deadly precision. There was something hungry in the way the Black Knight struck, something fierce and violent in each thrust of that goddess-cursed blade that drove Greil back and back again across the grass now slick with rain. Greil’s eyes were focused on that blade, waiting for the right motion, the point in the Black Knight’s swing that left an opening to strike. Greil let Urvan bite at the Black Knight again and again but the axe left no scrape in the ebony armor.

Greil grunted as Alondite cut him deep in the bicep. He swung Urvan sharply upward and intercepted the Black Knight’s next blow with a resounding _clang_.

The winds kicked up, rustling the trees and sending raindrops pattering over the forest.

The Black Knight brought Alondite around in an arc, clashing with Urvan in a shower of sparks as steel bit back against immortal metal. The Black Knight leaned his weight into their locked weapons; Greil was forced to step awkwardly, his center of balance off-kilter as he had to bend backward just to keep the knight at bay.

“This is what remains of my teacher?” the Black Knight said quietly.

Greil’s breath caught.

“How sad,” the Black Knight continued. “All this time, and you’d let petty work dull your abilities.”

He twisted Alondite and forced Greil to tilt Urvan just to keep the sword’s wickedly sharp edge away from his neck.

The woods shifted. Out of the bushes Ike stumbled, wide-eyed and stunned to silence. His sword was already half-drawn.

Greil’s eyes darted to his son’s.

“Ike!” he shouted, a crack in the stone of his voice. “ _Stay back—!_ ”

A sudden weight fell away from him as the Black Knight stepped away, Alondite drawn down and low, but Greil couldn’t track the tip of the blade, not with Ike there not with his only son so close to his biggest mistake, not with the ground so slick with a crescendo of rain that dripped with the sweat and blood down Greil’s skin—

Pain seared in his chest.

Greil felt his posture slip, held up only by the bloody sword protruding from his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: injury/violence/death
> 
> I wouldn't normally CW this but there's been so much unrest and violence lately that I feel it's important to warn up front that this particular chapter is heavier than the others in case that's not something you're mentally up for right now.

“ _Father!_ ” Ike screamed.

He moved on instinct. Before his father’s bloody body hit the ground Ike was running, sword drawn in both hands, eyes aflame with fury and teeth bared in the snarl of a yearling wolf whose fangs had yet to grow sharp.

The Black Knight turned to face him. In the shadow of the knight’s cloak, Greil was bent double, clutching his stomach. Urvan had fallen from his hands. The silver greatsword dripped red as it lazily hung by the knight’s side.

Ike swung wide, leaning into the motion even as his leading foot twisted slightly from the rain-soaked ground. The knight stood still. Ike’s sword scraped across that ebon-black metal with a sound fit to make teeth clench and yet the armor was unscathed, the armor was un _touched_ and nothing but Ike’s warped reflection stared back at him from that immaculate chestplate.

For a moment, Ike saw a flicker of fear reflected back from his own eyes.

In a movement too fast to follow the Black Knight’s sword was up in a flash and Ike yelped—a broken, faltering cry—as the knight cut him diagonally from hip to shoulder and shoved him away.

Ike hit the ground hard. Black spots swam in his vision. The slash along his torso had ripped through his blue-and-gold tunic and burned like a raw blacksmith’s iron had been pressed to his bare skin. His sword lay useless an arm’s reach away.

Before he could reach for it, the knight slammed one metal boot over Ike’s right forearm, trapping him by the wrist with no amount of kindness. Ike cried out in pain again and struggled to push himself up by his left arm.

Sharp metal pricked against his neck.

It _pressed_.

Ike let himself lie still, his cheek against the wet grass and a sword point against the divot underneath his jaw. Warm blood dripped down the fuller and curled with rainwater around his throat.

Greil bellowed in rage and broke off in a hacking cough, spitting blood.

“That was a warning,” the Black Knight said, pivoting to look at Greil. “I will not check my hand the next time.”

“You bastard—!” Greil snarled.

“Are you going to give me what I came for now?”

“I don’t _have_ it!”

The knight _tsk_ ed hollowly in his helm. “Honestly, Gawain, your commitment to falsehoods is almost admirable were it not so foolish. Let me try asking more politely.”

The Black Knight pressed his sword a bit harder against Ike’s neck, enough to pierce the skin. Ike’s breath came in short, panicked bursts. He was bleeding heavily from that first wound, but some morbid part of him knew he wasn’t dying _yet_ , that the cut was wide but not deep enough to damage his insides—but any deeper, and Ike knew he’d be too far gone to mend.

Any deeper, and he’d be dead.

“Is your tongue loose now?” the Black Knight asked Greil.

“Stay away from my son!” Greil snarled. He braced one arm against the ground and one leg underneath him, trying to gather himself enough to stand. The palm against his stomach was stained red. He opened his mouth to speak and broke off with another haggard, wet cough.

“I see you’re still not behaving,” the Black Knight said. “Perhaps your son is not enough. Perhaps I need to pay a visit to your daughter, see what sorts of wounds I can trace with Alondite before her miserable father releases a bit of simple information—”

“Don’t you dare!” Ike snapped. The Black knight ground his heel against Ike’s wrist and made Ike yell as pain lanced through his forearm. He dug his fingers into the wet soil for purchase, for _something_ , for _any_ kind of leverage, but the Black Knight was a visage of neutrality and only had eyes for Greil. He hadn’t even turned to give Ike a passing glance.

Thunder rolled above them. And, curiously, another peal sounded out of the woods to the west.

The Black Knight paused.

“…As I was saying,” he said, “if you don’t relinquish the medallion, Gawain, I’ll have to cull your bloodline. It’s all rather simple. Offer me no more resistance, and—”

The thunder roared again. Ike faintly thought it sounded closer. Rain collected on his eyelashes as he blinked furtively, trying to keep the little black spots in his vision from overtaking him. Ashera above, everything hurt, but Ike refused to let himself succumb to numb compliance.

 _Father, please,_ he thought, _please, hold on—I’ll save you, I’ll…_

The pressure on his arm lifted. The sword point trailed a line down his neck as an unfriendly reminder and withdrew.

“You get to keep your head today, boy,” the Black Knight said slowly, the sound like a blacksmith’s hammer. He nudged Ike’s fractured wrist with his heel as he walked away.

The instant Ike saw that red cloak trail across his line of sight he was on his feet—then his knees as vertigo overtook him—and only caught a fleeting glimpse of shining black armor as the knight disappeared with another burst of blinding white magic. Rain pounded from the sky. The moon was all but gone.

Ike’s right wrist screamed with pain, but he could still move his fingers.

He could still carry his father.

“Leave… alone,” Greil muttered when Ike came close, his voice slurred from blood loss.

“I’m not leaving you here!” Ike said fiercely. He grabbed one of his father’s arms, the one that wasn’t pressed against his bleeding stomach, and slung it over his shoulders, trying not to stumble under the weight. Ike’s own injury stung sharp enough to make him gasp when he hauled Greil to his feet.

Ike’s bangs were plastered to his forehead, his face slick with rain and dirt along the side where the Black Knight had pinned him, but he managed to find the trail that led back to Gebal Castle. Greil was barely able to move his own feet. Blood ran down his legs and left a grim track behind them that washed away with the downpour.

The woods were too loud. A fox shrieked in the underbrush; branches clattered and thunder rumbled; leaves conspired and murmured cryptic eulogies as they flashed their silver undersides in the throes of the wind. Ike’s head pounded with every step. He’d banged his shoulder into trees and scraped his legs against pricker bushes, but he pushed on. Greil was growing heavier by the second until Ike could barely pick up his own feet, resorting to a limping shuffle as he lugged his father along the trail.

Greil mumbled something, his breath faint against Ike’s neck.

“Father, save your energy,” Ike said through a grimace as he trod on a sharp rock in the darkness. “I’m bringing—I’m getting you to safety, just hang on…”

“Don’t… pursue him,” Greil said. His eyes were half-lidded. His fingers didn’t clutch his wound so desperately. “Black Knight… not worth… the price…”

“Stay with me, _please_ —”

“Take Mist, the company… stay in Gallia… Cain…ghis… grant you protection…”

Ike shook his head to clear the rain from his eyes and slumped dangerously from a sudden dizzy spell. His shirt clung to his chest. The rain was cold, but Ike felt too warm, and if he slowed for even a second he could feel himself shiver.

His father was still mumbling. “Company… yours now… ask… tania…”

“Father!”

Greil’s head lolled forward. The last thing Ike caught before his father was silent was his mother’s name whispered reverently like a prayer.

Ike wasn’t sure how long he had walked through the woods that night. When he finally caught sight of Gebal Castle, its stern outline a welcome shadow among the dark, he’d felt so relieved that his knees almost gave out from under him. A dim light was on in the long glass-windowed hall that led to the kitchens.

“Help!” Ike shouted. He stumbled. Goddess, everything hurt. “Help, someone, _please_ —”

Ike blinked. The castle was on its side. Wet dirt pressed against his cheek.

“Please,” Ike murmured, letting the spots in his vision overtake him.

He woke what felt like seconds later to Rhys’s pale face above him, rain soaking through his ivory outer robe. A bright glow like a second moon came from the glass top of one of Rhys’s healing staves; it was pressed flush against Ike’s breastbone and was making him shiver violently. Ike could faintly make out Titania and Gatrie’s forms crouching over something else behind Rhys.

Ike squirmed, trying to get his bearings enough to stand, but Rhys laid a gentle hand on his uninjured shoulder to keep him down. Ike struggled.

“Father needs it,” he said, not hearing the own crack in his voice. “He’s hurt bad, he needs help more than me, Rhys, please, Rhys…”

Rhys’s eyes pinched at the corners, his lips quavering. Tears, not rainwater, streaked his cheeks.

He shook his head.

The last little ember Ike had been clinging to snuffed out. His vision swam, and he fell into a deep and painless unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> general gawain found dead in gallia
> 
> is he ok?
> 
> ya but he died


	20. Chapter 20

The night Greil died, Mist cried until her throat was raw and her breaths were broken.

Her ribs ached, her nose was runny with snot, and each ragged gasp made her vision swim from sheer lack of oxygen. She’d been awoken by loud noises downstairs and crept down to investigate once the voices had died down, still in her loose nightgown and stockings, and the sight of all that slick blood and rainwater on the stone floor had almost made her faint.

Then she saw her father.

And he wasn’t moving.

And he was covered in sheets taken from a hallway closet, rain-soaked but unnaturally still, Gatrie and Boyd tending to him as best they could as they knelt on the floor over his body. Boyd saw her first.

“Mist—” he started, moving to shield Greil from her view. “I…”

Mist’s throat had gone dry as winter. Her fingers clutched the long skirt of her nightgown.

“There was nothing we could do,” Gatrie said through a strained wince of a smile, an attempt to make the blow less harsh. “The Commander, he… was gone by the time he got here. Your brother’s with Rhys, he looked bad but I’m sure he’ll be fine—”

Mist hadn’t waited to hear anything else—she’d turned and fled back up the stairs, Boyd’s voice fading behind her, and hadn’t stopped running until she was in her borrowed room with the door slammed shut as if it could block out all the horrors that the night storm had brought. Ike would be okay. He was strong; he’d once beaten pneumonia without any help from Rhys at all.

But her father was the strongest man Mist knew, and he was dead, and nothing was going to bring him back.

Someone knocked on her door.

Mist sniffed loudly. “Come—come in,” she called, her voice warbling.

The door creaked open; Mia’s violet curtain of hair swung in as she poked her head through.

“You alright?” she asked quietly.

Mist shook her head. One of the wall sconces was barely lit in the hallway behind Mia, but its pale orange glow was a welcome warmth in the dark.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” Mia asked.

Mist shook her head again. She had plenty of room on the bed; the mattress was built for a laguz thrice her size and still offered room to spare. Mia folded her legs underneath her like a dancer when she sat down next to Mist. The bedspread dipped under her weight. Her shoulders brushed against Mist’s, and Mist found herself leaning into that fragile bit of body heat.

She stared down at the hooked rug on floor. Her lip trembled.

“He’s really gone,” Mist whispered.

“I’m so sorry,” Mia said.

“But he—Father is so—it’s not fair!”

Mist turned and buried her face against Mia’s collarbone, throwing her arms around the other girl’s waist. A little sob escaped her chest, and she leaned against Mia, crying against her shoulder.

“…I miss princess Elincia,” Mist said when she caught her breath, her voice muffled against Mia’s shirt. “She and I were—we were getting along so well, she had a song and a poem for everything, she’d know what to say to make everyone—to make them all feel better…”

“She sounds like a dynamite kind of gal,” Mia admitted. “Granted, I only saw her for about two minutes before she and that fancy-cat Ranulf went off to Castle Gallia, but she seems like a real sweetheart. I hope she gets her throne back.”

“Father was—supposed to help her,” Mist said, screwing her eyes shut in a feeble attempt to stop her own tears. “And now he’s—he’s gone, and my brother’s hurt, and somewhere out there there’s got to be—someone _responsible_ , and what if they come back and, and, and—!”

Her words broke off with a _hic_ as another bout of crying threatened to overtake her.

“Shh…” Mia said quietly. She stroked Mist’s hair with one hand, keeping the other firmly braced between Mist’s shoulderblades. “You’ll be okay. There’s a lot of hubbub going on downstairs but I heard a couple of folks are out scouting right now to make sure there’s nothing else out there.”

Mist tensed. The thought of evil shadows lurking in the woods armed with Daein steel didn’t make her feel any better.

Mia trailed her long fingers through Mist’s hair. “Here, how about this?” Mia added. “I’ll stay with you for the rest of the night—and that way, _no one_ is gonna get in here, certainly no evildoers or jerks out for revenge. Would you like that?”

Mist nodded. Mia patted Mist on the back of the head and then moved her hand to fluff one of the pillows beside them. Mist yawned despite herself—hollow tiredness had replaced the weight of emotion in her chest, leaving her feeling carved out. Wearily she lay down on the bed and barely registered the weight of the blanket Mia tucked around her.

“I’ll go get my sword so that any foul perpetrators know what they’re in for,” Mia said.

“Mhm,” Mist replied. Her eyes were closed; she could barely hear the rumble of thunderclouds over the castle roof.

Her fingers brushed against cool metal. Her mother’s medallion was under the pillow where she’d left it before going to bed earlier that night, and though it was chill to the touch, Mist’s heartbeat fall back into a steady, balanced rhythm.

The mattress shifted as Mia got up, treading quietly towards the door, but Mist was already asleep by the time she reached it.

***

The night Greil died, Soren kept vigil by Ike’s side. He had to make sure they wouldn’t lose two parts of the family in one night.

When the front doors had crashed open, Soren had rushed downstairs with one arm out of his robes’ sleeve and his spellbook already poised to cast. He’d been expecting Daeins at their doorstep, not Rhys and Titania carrying a deathly-pale Ike between them towards the infirmary. Water trailed in their steps from the storm. Blood stained their hands. At once, fear gripped Soren’s chest like a vice, and he fell into step at Titania’s heels.

“What happened?” Soren demanded.

“We don’t—we don’t know,” Titania said, her voice coming loose from its reins. Her long hair was wavy from having its braid taken out; it hung like a great red cloak down her back. “Commander Greil and Ike had gone out into the woods. Someone attacked them. Greil is—”

Her throat caught, and Soren saw her eyes were wet from not just the rain. Anxiety shot through his spine and made his skin prickle with nervous energy.

“He’s…?” Soren pressed.

“He’s dead. Someone murdered him.”

Soren stopped in his tracks.

“Who,” he asked coldly. He forced his legs to keep moving, even though every step was like wading through marsh water.

“We don’t know. I sent Oscar and Shinon to scout. Gatrie is with… with Greil. Boyd sounded like he was going to help him.”

The infirmary at the north end of the castle was rectangular and lined with low cots on one side and shapeless floor mattresses along the other; supplies were organized in cabinets underneath a long stone-topped table in the middle of the room. Titania and Rhys set Ike down in the nearest cot. The moment Ike was out of his hands, Rhys ran to grab a bronze staff with a glass dome that shone as soon as his fingertips met the metal.

Soren had hovered by the foot of Ike’s cot until Titania tugged on his arm and led him around to the other side of the center table. Her face was taut and there was a wounded fire in her eyes.

“Let Rhys work,” she said quietly. Soren hissed through his teeth.

“I’m not letting my best friend die in front of me!” he said.

“And I’m not letting my Commander’s son die, either!” Titania snapped. She took a long, shuddering breath. “Look. Rhys is our only healer who knows both traditional remedies and light magic. He needs focus. Can you please rein in your temper until he’s done?”

Soren let out a low breath through his nose the way a dog growls before it bites.

But he relented.

It took fifteen minutes and two separate staves before Rhys had a handle on things. Soren couldn’t see precisely what their healer was doing on account of Titania blocking his view, but he saw the bits of blood-soaked fabric that Rhys had cut away, the hot water in the basin Titania brought him turn redder and redder with each dip. The two staves he’d used leaned against the wall. The glass domes had gone dull.

When Soren had reached the upper limits of his patience, Rhys finally stood and wrung his hands. Titania brought him a clean bowl of water to wash away the dried blood.

“He’s stable,” Rhys said wearily. “But he’ll be in pain when he wakes. Give him willow bark and valerian…I think I saw some in the cabinet second from the end there. I… I need to rest.”

“Do that,” Titania said. She placed a warm hand on Rhys’s shoulder and squeezed. “You saved his life. The… the Commander would be proud.”

Rhys nodded and wiped at the sweat on his forehead. He’d gone a ghostly shade of pale, and his hands trembled when he set his staff down on the middle table. Like a sleepwalker Rhys shuffled to the cot immediately next to Ike’s and fell face-first onto the mattress. Within seconds he was dozing.

Soren crossed his arms over his stomach. His nails dug into his sides.

“I’m not leaving,” he said when Titania gave him a stern look.

“Clearly,” she replied, shaking her head. She nodded her chin at the chair Rhys had brought to Ike’s bedside. “Wake Rhys or call for me if something changes. I need to check if Oscar and Shinon found anything.”

Soren nodded; his patience for small talk was worn as thin as his pressed lips. As soon as Titania walked past him into the hallway, Soren crossed to the chair Rhys had been sitting in and perched on the very edge. It was a curved-backed thing hewn from pieces of salvaged wood, and some of the knots dug into his thighs, but all the discomfort in the world wasn’t going to pull him from this spot.

Ike was pale, but breathing. Unconscious, but alive.

Soren could hear some dim voices bickering down the hall, but it didn’t sound like a true fight, so he let it out of his mind.

He cast a quick look around the room—Rhys was breathing easy, and whatever argument was going on near the front wings was far from escalating to this side of the castle. Soren took Ike’s hand and let two of his fingers press against Ike’s wrist. The pulse was fragile but steady as it beat against his fingertips.

Soren let out a sigh of relief.

He wasn’t sure when his body finally gave in to sleep—some queer hour of the morning, a liminal space between moonset and sunrise—but as Soren slumped in the chair he thought he felt Ike’s fingers twitch and hook around his own.

***

The night Greil died, Titania felt like the fire had gone out in the company’s hearts.

She’d left Soren in the infirmary, glad to be out of there before the boy broke under his own anxiety, but as soon as she’d made it ten paces down the hall Titania sensed her own resolve wither like a plant suddenly trapped between the pages of a tome. She pressed a hand against her mouth to stop any noise from breaching her lips.

Greil was gone. Her Commander, Elena’s dutiful husband, father to a band of misfits—he was dead and there was nothing she could do to fix it.

But she could help Ike. And wasn’t that what Greil had asked her so many years ago?

Titania squared her shoulders. Her hair was a loose mess freed from its braid, and she undid the decorative tie at the collar of her shirt to pull her hair back into a ponytail. Wearily she made her way back towards the front of Gebal Castle. Greil’s body had been moved to an alcove room just past the front doors, and Boyd was there with him, sitting on the floor with his legs crossed and his boisterous attitude unusually silent.

Gatrie was talking to Shinon by the main doors with his back facing Titania. Neither heard her approach—that, or neither cared enough to lower their voices.

“…be serious, c’mon,” Gatrie was saying.

“You’d do the same if you had any lick of sense in that skirt-chasing head of yours,” Shinon replied, flicking Gatrie on the shoulder.

Titania frowned. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms. Gatrie had the dignity to look sheepish; Shinon’s mouth turned down in a scowl.

“There’s nothing out there but mud and rain,” Shinon said before Titania could ask.

“Where’s Oscar?” Titania asked instead.

“Putting the horses away. You can interrogate him all you want when he gets back.”

“But did you find any signs of the attacker?”

“Did you not hear me?” Shinon said. He leaned forward, enunciating each syllable with too harsh of a bite. “There’s nothing _out_ there but _mud_ and _rain_.”

“Watch your tone,” Titania said, arms moving to her sides. “I gave you an order and I don’t want your usual lip, Shinon.”

Shinon scoffed and leaned back on his heels. His ponytail had been hastily dried, but when he flicked it over his shoulder he got a few drops of water on Titania’s cheek.

“Sure, whatever,” he said. “Is the brat still alive?”

“ _Ike._ And yes—Rhys stabilized him, and he should recover in the morning.”

Shinon rolled his eyes and passed Gatrie a handful of coins without bothering to hide the motion. Gatrie, for his part, was desperately focused on a patch of moonlight streaming in through a nearby window.

Titania took a deep breath to center herself. She waited until Shinon’s attention had turned back to her.

“I expect you to treat Ike with as much respect as you gave Greil,” she said slowly, making sure Shinon could read her lips, “considering command of the company falls to him now.”

Shinon looked as genuinely surprised as Titania thought she’d ever seen him—until a shadow crossed over his brow, and his lips curled into a sneer.

“That pup?” he spat. “Commanding the Greil Mercenaries? No way in hell! I thought authority fell to the deputy commander!”

Titania shook her head. “Greil made it clear to me months ago that he wanted Ike to inherit the company someday.”

“But he’s a _child!_ ”

“He’s _learning!_ ”

“Learning how to be _incompetent_ , you mean! You, I could respect if I had to, but I’m not going to blindly follow Greil’s little ‘legacy’.”

Shinon spat on Titania’s boots.

“To hell with this,” he griped. “Enjoy getting yourselves all killed. I’m not staying under the so-called leadership of a boy who can’t tie his own bootlaces. Gatrie, c’mon, we’re leaving.”

Gatrie squirmed, looking between Titania and Shinon.

“Wait, but—” he sputtered.

“Are you coming?” Shinon said. “Or are you staying to get bossed around by a twelve-year-old with a stick?”

Gatrie averted his gaze, scratching the back of his head. He mumbled an apology to Titania before he donned his cape and followed Shinon out into the rain.

The doors slammed shut.

Titania stood frozen to the spot, hands at fists at her sides, trembling with bridled fury.

Half a minute later, the doors opened again, and Oscar came into the foyer with his bangs plastered to his forehead, dripping rainwater onto the stone floor. He took one look at Titania and put a hand back on the door handle.

“Do you want me to bring them back?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Titania said with a bit too much force. “They made their decision. If you want to waste your breath negotiating with a selfish egomaniac and a glory hound, be my guest, but I doubt you’ll make any headway.”

Oscar bit his lip. In the side room, Boyd had gotten to one knee as if ready for a tussle, but Oscar waved a hand at him to settle down.

“I’ll make you some tea,” Oscar said. “It’s going to be a long night…”

Titania nodded; her throat was clenched from the urge to shout, and she counted the seconds until Oscar’s footsteps were out of earshot. Boyd had partly shut the door to the little alcove where Greil’s body was—possibly out of respect, possibly so Titania wouldn’t catch him napping—leaving the foyer of Gebal Castle empty save for the drumming thunder and rain overhead.

Only when Titania was certain no one could hear her did she allow herself to weep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fellas is it gay if you hold your best friend's hand while he sleeps to make sure his pulse is still there
> 
> ///  
> been a really rough week for me both physically & mentally... thank u for reading, cant believe there's 50+ kudos, my god... i'll try to have next chapter done sooner


	21. Chapter 21

Ike drifted.

His head was filled with lead, all his thoughts and feelings muddled and weighted down so heavily it was impossible to even parse them. He was dimly aware of his own slow heartbeat at one point, the briefest touch of skin on skin, but those sensations were lost to the endless stretch of blurry visions and memories.

Once he thought he saw his mother’s face. The moment Elena’s eyes came into view she faded into ether.

Ike wasn’t aware he was back in the fields behind the fort until he fell over onto his backside and his training sword thudded to the ground beside him. The grasses were wild and tanned from the summer sun. It had been a hot season so far, but that hadn’t stopped the Commander from taking his son out into the fields to practice. His father stood over him, shaking his head with a wide grin.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, pup!” Greil said. “Your footwork was sloppy. Lucky for you these are training swords, otherwise you’d’ve lost an arm.”

“I’m getting better, though!” Ike insisted. He sat up, propping his hands palm-down against the dirt. “That time I actually _hit_ you!”

Greil chuckled. A dry wind rustled the grasses, pulling pollen into the air.

“You’re as stubborn as your mule-headed father, that’s for sure,” Greil said. “Come on; if you want to be a part of the company someday, you’ll need as much training as you can get.”

“You’ll really let me join?”

“When you’re ready. You’ve still got a ways to go…but you’ll get there.”

Greil offered him a hand up.

Ike grinned. No amount of grass stains, skinned knees, and dirt under his nails would ever dissuade him from training to be a fighter like his father. No matter how many times his father benched him for being inexperienced, no matter how many rules Ike broke or the orders he ignored, he was going to be strong and brave and would protect everyone he could. Ike reached out for his father’s hand—

—and clutched sheer blackness, a void beyond perception, a phantom feeling that made his heart skip and his head reel back into fogginess.

Slowly, Ike blinked awake.

He was lying on a stiff cot in a room lit by a few carved sconces in the stone walls. He tried to sit up. Immediately a spasm wracked his chest. Ike gasped with the sudden pain—it was like he’d been thrown from the roof of a building and clubbed across the chest with a sack of quarry stone. His right wrist was stiff; a splint had been wrapped around it with rough fabric and forced his thumb out at an awkward angle. His heart hammered in his chest.

A warm cup pressed against his hands.

“Here,” said a quiet voice to his right.

Ike looked over and met Soren’s fierce and steady gaze. Those sharp red eyes would have been unnerving on anyone else, but Ike was grateful to see them.

Ike smiled. Soren quickly looked away.

“It’s willow,” Soren said, looking at the sheets. “And valerian, and a few other herbs for pain. Rhys said to take it when you woke.”

Ike nodded. His fingers brushed against Soren’s when he took the cup. Ike drank it in one go, wincing as the tea met his dry throat and again when it hit his empty stomach. He wrapped his fingers around the cup’s clay grooves and waited for the wave of nausea to recede.

On the cot next to him, Rhys was curled up with a lightweight blanket draped over him, sleeping soundly. He was a bit pale and twitched occasionally as he dreamed.

“…What time is it?” Ike asked, turning back to Soren.

“Just after four,” Soren replied.

 _Only four hours,_ Ike thought. _No, four and a half? I can’t even remember what time Father and I went out into the woods…_

_Father._

Ike swallowed. He handed the cup back to Soren, who set it on the center stone-topped table next to a pile of cloth strips and a round clay teapot. He returned to the little chair beside Ike’s cot and perched on the edge of it.

“And…” Ike started, “Father is…”

Soren’s lips pressed together firmly; he shook his head. Ike closed his eyes. He’d known, of course, the moment Rhys insisted on using his light magic on Ike instead of his father, but the weight of realization threatened to crush Ike’s ribcage. Ike leaned his head back against the pillow.

 _He’s gone_.

_And it’s my fault._

“Where is he?” Ike asked.

“Gatrie and Titania brought his body inside,” Soren said, “and Boyd was staying with it in one of the side rooms near the front doors. I don’t believe they’ve moved him yet.”

Ike nodded, flexing his toes underneath the sheets. At least he hadn’t broken anything that would have kept him bedridden. His old blue-and-gold tunic had been cut into rags on the stone table in the center, but someone had dressed him in an extra cotton shirt, sepia-brown with sleeves that fell just below the elbow. His breeches were fine, and his leather boots were over by the infirmary doorway.

Ike sat up, grimacing through the pain, and started to sling himself out of bed.

“Ike?” Soren said. “You aren’t supposed to be—”

“I’m going to bury my father,” Ike said. His vision wobbled when he stood up fully, and he pressed a hand against his temple until the dizzy spell passed.

Soren got to his feet. “You almost _died_ , Ike—a burial can wait until you aren’t at risk of immediately passing out or contracting an infection! Why not let someone else…?”

Ike looked over at him, and whatever Soren was about to say withered away with just that one glance. Soren licked his lips and let out a long breath through his nose.

“ _Or_ , you could be as stubborn and reckless as you always are, and I’ll do my best to make sure we minimize catastrophe,” Soren said.

“That’s the spirit,” Ike said with a little half-smile that quickly fell. Forcing humor into his voice was like forcing a dull axe to chop wood.

Soren helped Ike get his boots and made him drink another cup of herbal tea before leaving the infirmary. Titania was in the long window-lined hall between the east wing and the main entrance, staring out at the trees. When she saw Ike up and about, she pointed right back at the infirmary.

“You need to rest,” she said sternly.

“I need to bury Father,” Ike replied.

“It’s barely four in the morning!”

“That’s what _I_ said,” Soren said dryly.

Ike squinted at the windows. A sliver of gray light peered over the tops of the trees; dawn was another hour away at least, but it was enough light to see by. The window panes were covered in water droplets like stars across the night sky.

“Is it still raining?” Ike asked.

Titania shifted her weight to the other side, gripping the windowsill uncomfortably. “No,” she said, “but the castle grounds have turned to mud, and it looks like it could rain again at any moment. We can… put Greil to rest when the weather clears.”

Ike shook his head. He started to walk past Titania, Soren at his heels.

“Ike…” Titania said.

“We aren’t going to stop him,” Soren said over his shoulder, “so we may as well help him. The shovels are in the supply room on the first floor across from the west-wing study. I’ll make sure we bring ropes as well.”

Ike could hear Titania sigh behind them, but he couldn’t find the room in his heart to argue with her. He moved mechanically down the long hall, his feet leaden and so heavy that Ike wondered why he wasn’t shaking the mortar with each step. Soren trod soft-footed at his side.

Silence hung over them.

***

The burial was a company affair.

Ike gritted his teeth and dug as best he could, wincing every time pain lanced through his right wrist but refusing to stop. Titania, Oscar, and Boyd each took a shovel and helped him dig the grave. The muddy ground behind the castle was pliable, and although the clouds were grim and dawn was a gray span of light at the very edge of the trees, they had a six-foot deep hole dug before the hour. Soren brought a few spare papers with wind sigils scrawled on them and used the spells to keep the clinging morning fog away from their work.

Mist held Mia’s and Rolf’s hands the whole time, silently watching. Rhys swayed on his feet and murmured prayers to Ashera.

When they’d covered Greil’s body and tamped down the earth once more, Titania took Urvan and drove it ceremoniously head-first into the ground to mark the grave.

Everyone said a few words. Ike could barely hear them. He’d been numb the moment he saw his father’s cloth-covered body as unmoving as a stone.

The company gave him and Mist passing touches on their way back downhill. Ike stared blankly at the bump in the dirt. Soren was the last to leave. He offered no hollow words of comfort, but he reached tentatively for Ike’s arm before some internal impulse made him withdraw and scamper back to the castle like a scorned animal. Ike sighed.

Mist clutched her hands around something at her chest; Ike glimpsed a flicker of teal light from the old coin their mother had given Mist so many years ago.

Ike held an arm out. Mist slipped in underneath, pressed to his side, and Ike wrapped his arm over her shoulders, careful not to get his bare skin anywhere near her medallion. He wasn’t sure how long they stood together in the fog that was creeping back in from the woods, how long they waited while dawn slowly heaved itself free from the blanketing clouds.

Ike’s nose was cold and his fingers were starting to stiffen up when Mist began to sing.

It was a melody without words, a series of notes that rose and fell in chromatic waves. Ike joined her after a measure, but his voice was hesitant and halting. He knew the melody decently enough—Mist loved to hum it whenever her mind wandered—but something in his throat caught as he tried to add his own tenor to Mist’s soprano. He stumbled his way through the song until Mist held on to the last note as if unwilling to let it go.

They were quiet for a long time.

“…He’s really gone, isn’t he,” Mist whispered.

Ike leaned his head over to rest his cheek against Mist’s head and nodded. He felt Mist hiccup a breath.

“What are we going to do?” Mist asked.

“We keep moving,” Ike said. “I…I’m going to find who killed him. I’m going to make him regret ever coming after Father in the first place.”

“Brother, _please_ ,” Mist whispered, “I can’t—!”

She turned, tucking the medallion safely away, and hugged Ike around the chest.

“I can’t lose you, too,” she said.

“You won’t,” Ike said against her hair. “I’m going to keep you safe. You and Soren and Titania and Oscar, everyone in the company, and Princess Elincia too. I _promise,_ Mist.”

Mist sniffled against him. Ike held her while she cried, but nothing stirred in his own chest—whatever rawness in him that had made him attack the Black Knight had withered and died its own sort of death, and there was nothing in him but a deep empty pit where emotion should have lived. Nothing but hollowness. An empty hearth where there should have been a flame.

“Come on,” Ike said after a while, “we should head inside. Don’t want to get chills from staying out here.”

When Ike and Mist finally got back, Oscar was busy down in the galley stoking a fire for breakfast, and the telltale whiff of smoke off a cast iron pan could be smelled all the way in the foyer. Mist hugged Ike once more before she retreated upstairs to her borrowed quarters. Ike couldn’t blame her—she had dark circles under her reddened eyes, and Ike didn’t need a mirror to know he probably looked worse. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the wound across his chest yet, but if the bandages clinging to his skin were any indication, it wouldn’t look pretty.

His empty stomach twisted. With a heavy sigh, Ike let his feet steer him towards the galley before he passed out from accidental hunger. Even a body that couldn’t save its father needed food.

Titania was back in the window-lined hallway past the foyer, staring out at the Gallian trees as if Greil would suddenly walk out of them alive and well.

Ike almost made it past her. He stopped the moment he felt her hand on his shoulder.

“You need to rest, Ike,” Titania said softly.

Ike shrugged.

“ _Ike._ ”

“I’m not tired,” Ike lied. “I’d rather be at the morning briefing, Commander.”

Titania faltered for a moment. She tugged gently on Ike’s shoulder until he turned to face her. Her eyes were puffy around the edges, and she rubbed them with the heel of her hand before she spoke.

“I’m not the Commander now,” she said. “You are, Ike. Greil wanted you to inherit the company.”

Ike blinked. _That’s a joke,_ he thought. _It has to be. Father only let me join because I was too insistent, and then I… and he…_

“That can’t be right,” Ike tried denying.

“He told me seven months ago on our way back from a job outside Nados,” Titania said. “He wanted you to lead in his stead when the time came.”

“But I thought leadership fell to the deputy commander?”

“Traditionally, yes, but Greil wanted it to be this way. I agreed with him. I’m much happier serving second-in-command, and, if you’ll let me, I will continue to do so for you. Ike, you have your father’s spirit, and that is the spirit I—”

Titania broke off with a slight flush to her cheeks.

“I won’t hold it against you if you decline,” she said, quieter, after a moment to collect her thoughts. “Leading a mercenary company is a difficult mountain to climb. But I will do everything in my power to help you, Ike, if that’s what you wish. So will everyone here if you ask them. We are a _family_.”

Ike felt a pang of guilt stab the center of his ribcage.

“I… alright,” Ike said. He was too weary to try and force any emotion into the words. “If it’s what Father wanted, then I’m in no position to refuse. I’ll take command.”

His stomach twisted again.

“…And our first briefing will be _after_ everyone has had something to eat.”

Titania smiled warmly. “Of course, Commander.”

Ike winced.

But he didn’t correct her.


	22. Chapter 22

The morning was slow, gray, and dismal.

Soren sipped on a mug of stale black tea and eyed what was left of the Greil Mercenaries. They’d taken their morning briefing in the laguz-sized dining hall at the far eastern wing of Gebal Castle—Oscar had made good use of the leftover provisions Ranulf had sent to them last night, salting and charring everything that remained so it could preserve for longer. Mia and Boyd managed to put away an entire dish of venison steak and eggs between them.

Ike, for once, ate next to nothing.

It was enough of a disturbance for Soren to slip Ike the food from his own meagerly-loaded plate, and Ike flashed him a small smile, but he still touched nothing. Soren’s chest felt tight. Ike was physically there, certainly, but the way his shoulders slumped when no one was looking at him, the way his eyes were hollow and the way his fingers clung to the wooden table all told Soren more than words ever could.

Ike was hurting. And he was too stubborn to let anyone see.

Soren opened his mouth to speak, but no false words of sympathy came to him, no pleasantries or useless expressions of condolences. Slowly he let his lips come together in a thin line.

 _Useless_ , he thought at himself. _Some friend you are. Everything Ike and his father did for you, and you can’t even muster an ounce of performative compassion. Heartless._

When the remaining company had picked the last of the food clean, Mist went back to bed, and Rolf declared himself the morning patrol only after Boyd insisted he stay inside the castle. The vast hall soon felt even emptier.

Soren made mental notes of the entire briefing. Shinon and Gatrie’s resignation made Boyd almost throw a plate while he called them all sorts of ungrateful insults. Titania suggested recruitment after their business with Elincia was finished, which was one of the first things she’d said in the past five years that Soren actually agreed with.

And Ike was just…quiet. He nodded when looked at and spoke when addressed, but there was still that newfound weight hanging off him like ice on winter boughs.

When the meeting was over, Ike motioned at Soren and Titania to stay behind. He waited until Boyd’s loud steps had disappeared down the hall before he shifted his weight awkwardly and rubbed the back of his head.

“I know I’ve been a burden on both of you,” Ike said. “I’m…I know I’m not anyone’s first choice for a leader, except my father, apparently. It’s been a tough morning. Thanks for… for staying, I guess.”

“It’s no trouble,” Soren said quietly. Again his fingers twitched; he’d felt the urge to put a hand on Ike’s arm—some sort of idiotic gesture of camaraderie—that morning at Greil’s funeral but had suppressed it. He folded his hands into the sleeves of his gold-trimmed robes and let them be.

“I have no intention of giving up on us,” Ike continued. “Which is why I’d like to formally ask both of you to stay on as officers of the Greil Mercenaries—Titania as my deputy commander, and Soren as my tactician.”

Titania agreed at once, but a thorn of anxiety pricked at Soren and made him dig his fingernails into his arms.

“Ike, I’m not sure I’d be much help to you,” he said. “Your father mostly kept me around for numerical tallying and figures. There isn’t much place for me in a mercenary company from a professional standpoint.”

Ike tilted his head. His brow was knit in a curious expression, and for a moment it was like looking at the honest seventeen-year-old boy he still was.

“…You’re so weird, Soren,” Ike said, shaking his head. “I’ve always depended on you, haven’t I?”

“Not as a tactician. Even Greil didn’t allow me field experience until I was sixteen.”

“But he took your advice. Remember when he kept you after dinner that one night when we were fifteen? I waited outside the briefing room for an hour because he wanted your opinion on breaking a siege.”

“That was an outstanding circumstance!”

“It really was, because you gave him such an outstanding analysis that he would run his plans by you before setting out on missions ever since.”

Titania purposefully turned away and finished tying in the ends of her braid, pretending not to pay attention. Soren looked down at his shoes.

“I could fill a library with all the times my father valued your honesty and your input,” Ike said, holding up one hand and ticking off his fingers for emphasis. “And I need your voice, too, Soren. You don’t have to accept the position if you really don’t want to, but I can’t think of anyone else better suited—or anyone else I’d rather have—for the job.”

Soren winced, trying to drown that inner voice that wanted to yowl at him for being unworthy of just about everything good that’s ever happened to him, to just sabotage everything he’d ever worked for.

And then he glanced up.

And there, written across Ike’s face in that nonverbal language the two of them knew so well, was a pure, simple sentiment:

_Don’t leave. Please._

Soren let his fingers unclench, let his arms drop to his sides. He snarled back at the anxiety gripping his chest, just this once.

“Alright,” he said after a beat. “I accept. For as long as you’ll have me, I’ll be here for you.”

“I couldn’t ask for more,” Ike replied.

Titania chuckled to herself; Soren wanted to shoot her a sour look but not with Ike looking as happy as he’d been all morning.

“Then that’s settled,” Ike said. “I had wanted to ask you two in person before I accidentally assumed anything. Titania, you’re the most experienced member of the company; if you could teach me the basic organization and outfitting—”

Something thudded into the wall outside the dining hall. Before any of them could react, Rolf stumbled in, rubbing his head.

“There’s soldiers!” he exclaimed. “Daein soldiers, all around the castle—I just saw some out back from the second floor, they’re all around the woods downhill—!”

“Get Mist and hide in one of the upper rooms,” Ike said immediately. “One with furniture you can use to barricade the door if you have to.”

“Should I get Rhys, too?” Rolf asked.

“Rhys?”

“He passed out in the infirmary again as soon as the burial was over,” Titania explained. “He wasn’t at breakfast or the meeting, remember? He’s running a low fever from channeling so much light magic over such an intense period of time last night.”

“Light magic,” Soren said derisively, shaking his head. Anima magic was far more stable and hardly ever drained him—the last time he’d let himself be overworked by his own spells, he’d been a child, and his teacher had been quick to beat it out of him.

Titania looked at him sharply, but Soren pretended not to notice. Rolf was already running to wake Rhys up and retreat someplace safe. Ike ran his hands through his hair, fingers grasping at the green strip of cloth keeping his bangs out of the way.

“Titania, find Boyd and Mia—have them take the back entrance,” Ike said. “Oscar can come with us to defend the front. The ground’s too unstable for horses, so leave the animals and be ready to engage on foot.”

Ike glanced at Soren, checking just once with a glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes if this was a good idea.

Soren held his gaze. He nodded.

“Right away, Commander,” Titania said, and she hustled down the hall, careful not to run through the patches of light through the windows lest her armor give away her position.

Ike swallowed nervously. His hand went to the pommel of his sword.

“Alright,” he said, looking once more at Soren for some kind of confirmation. “Here we go.”

A few minutes later, Soren was among the thrall of battle once again. He ducked behind one of the low stone walls surrounding the front clearing as an arrow shot overhead. With a snarl he stood back up and struck the offending Daein with a spell that left papercuts over his own hand.

The wind ripped pages apart out of his spellbook as he flung spell after spell into the mob of Daeins encircling the castle grounds. His ponytail whipped in the wind and the bell sleeves of his robes flapped like flags as he directed the magic around him in that old lyrical tongue.

But for every Daein he struck down, another simply stepped up in its place.

Soren paused to catch his breath, studying them. The platoon was more than enough to rush the castle and cut every Greil Mercenary down. And yet they _didn’t,_ and that was more unsettling to Soren than the fact that they’d somehow appeared out of the woods like shadows.

“Ike!” he called, catching up to his new commander, slipping in beside him just as Ike cut down a Daein swordsman.

“Soren? What is it?”

“They’re waiting for something—their commander isn’t pressing an attack, and we’ve been at it for fifteen minutes now.”

“You think they’re just whittling us down?” Ike said, wiping sweat from his brow. There was an easy thirty foot distance between them and the nearest Daein soldier, and even as they watched the soldier made no direct move to engage them.

“I hate to admit it, but that seems likely,” Soren said. “They outnumber us. The only reason they aren’t charging in is because we hold a bottleneck on the terrain.”

Ike gritted his teeth. His right wrist was still in its splint, and it was handicapping him fiercely if the fresh cuts on his arm were any indication. He flinched whenever he raised his sword above his waist.

“We hold the line, then,” Ike said. “Ranulf said there’d be a Gallian envoy to take us to Zarzi today. I just hope he meant _soon_.”

Soren nodded, and he shook out the paper shreds from his spellbook, ready to cast again. He was down to ten pages. Aiming carefully, he was able to take out another handful of soldiers and send them careening over one another, but more were always waiting at the treeline.

And then the strangest thing happened. For a moment Soren wondered if he’d been struck with a weapon when he wasn’t paying attention, because the scene in front of him was so unbelievable.

The Daeins were _scattering_.

“Hold position!” their commander was shouting as shrieks and terrified yells resounded through the soldiers. “I said, hold—!”

The Daein commander yelped and fell over backward as two blurry shapes knocked him to the ground. The soldiers fled for the woods, tripping over themselves and the roots and rocks underfoot, leaving their commander to his grisly fate.

All Soren could see from his and Ike’s spot uphill were the man’s limbs thrashing.

And two giant, vicious Gallian beasts.

The Daein’s arms thudded to the ground, and the animals turned towards the castle. One was a cat, as long as a human is tall, with a tawny pelt and cream underbelly. She wore a green collar with a long ribbon tied to a sleigh bell that dragged on the ground beside her.

The other was massive—bulky as a horse and easily Soren’s own height at the shoulder, blue-furred like a coastal sky and striped along his face and back. A thick crest of stiff blue-white fur ran from his head down to his shoulderblades.

Soren’s free hand curled into a fist. He held his spellbook with a white-knuckled grip.

The sub-humans twitched their tails. The cat shifted back to a humanoid form in a flash of magic, but the tiger stayed the way he was, licking the blood off his chops. Soren watched them approach and was only dimly aware of Titania coming around to his other side.

The cats stopped a respectful twenty feet away. Ike awkwardly raised his hand in greeting.

“Uh, hi,” he said, “are you the Gallian envoy? Did Ranulf send you?”

Something like thunder rumbled from the tiger—Soren flinched so hard he bumped into Titania.

“We’re here on behalf of Ranulf, yes,” said the cat-girl, looking at her nails. Her tawny ears flicked back and forth, catching strands of her chin-length hair. She hardly looked dressed for battle—the clothes she’d shifted into were impractical at best, more befitting a market-goer than a brawler. Peasant-style blouse. Cropped Gallian green shorts.

But there was blood on her nails. And her eyes slipped right over Soren like he wasn’t even there.

“I am Lethe,” the girl continued, “and this is Mordecai. We are both proud warriors of Gallia and sworn to King Caineghis. We’re to bring you to Castle Gallia for an audience with His Majesty and the girl you claim is Princess Crimea.”

“My name is Ike, and I’m… the commander of the Greil Mercenaries,” Ike said, hurrying over the pause. “This is Titania, my deputy commander, and Soren, my tactician. The rest of the company is around back and inside Gebal Castle.”

“I see,” Lethe said. “The sooner you summon them, the sooner we may be off.”

“Thank you for your help driving off Daein,” Ike continued. “We were in a bit of a bind there, I have to say.”

 _Don’t thank them,_ Soren thought, but he held his tongue.

The tiger, Mordecai, rumbled in his throat again. “It is no trouble,” he said, tail swishing gently behind him. “Ranulf said Ike is not bad stranger. Mordecai and Ike, we will become friends. Proud warriors!”

Lethe hissed at Mordecai and batted him with her knuckles.

“Hush!” she said. “You don’t know that! That’s a beorc— _human_ scum. And all humans have two faces!”

Ike’s brow furrowed.

“Soren, what’s a beorc?” he asked quietly, but Lethe’s ears shot up and she interrupted them.

“Beorc is what _you_ are,” she said, gesturing with her bloody fingernails at Ike, Titania, and Soren. “You soft, hairless things without any power. Mewling like kittens when you break a nail...”

“Excuse me?” Ike said.

“Ike,” Titania warned.

“Lethe, you are being mean,” Mordecai said, butting Lethe in the back with his broad forehead. “The King forbids this. ‘Do not fight with beorc’, he says.”

“Why?” Soren said too loudly. “Worried you’d lose? To use an apt metaphor, you’d run away with your tail between your legs, is that it?”

“Soren!” Titania said, tugging on his sleeve. Soren yanked his arm free and stepped forward, gripping his spellbook so tightly he could feel the spine slip along its loose binding. His chest felt tight again, but not with anxiety—with a cold, ice-sharp cluster of needles.

_They don’t care about anyone but their own kind. They’d as soon leave a child to starve if it’s not one of them. We don’t need their ‘help’. We don’t need their charity._

This time Lethe looked right at him.

She glanced at the script-like birthmark on his forehead and back to his deep red eyes and she _scowled._ Mordecai’s rumbling purr turned into a proper growl.

“You’re nothing but beasts anyway, beasts that masquerade under the pretense of a proper name,” Soren said, the words spilling out of him in a rush that left his ears ringing and his heart hammering. “Call yourself whatever name you like! It doesn’t change the fact that you’re animals through and through.”

“Soren, stop it!” Ike said somewhere in the background. But Lethe was looking at Soren, really _looking_ at him, and she put one hand on Mordecai’s head as he kneaded the ground beneath his giant paws, and he was looking at Soren, too, recognition that proved that those beasts suffered from entirely willful negligence.

“You think you’re the only ones deserving to be called ‘human’?” Lethe spat. Her tail was fluffed to twice its size. “So you call us ‘ _sub_ -human’, just to rub it in our muzzles! Is that how beorc treat their friends? Their allies?”

“I’m sorry, I apologize on behalf of my company,” Ike said, trying to intervene. “We don’t know you by any other name—”

This time Lethe whirled on Ike so quickly it made the bell on her ribbon-collar jingle.

“You ‘know no other name’ for us?” she growled. “You beorc who forced us into slavery? Your empires, your frivolous kingdom wars and secessions? Hah! How easy you forget! But we laguz, oh, we remember, and we do not forgive.”

Mordecai butted her hand, but Lethe snatched it away from him.

“The king can say what he likes,” she said, “but I do not trust you. I warn you right now, do not give us your pitying talk as if that will mend your history with us.”

Armor clanked around the side of the castle; Oscar was back with Boyd, though they took one look at the argument in front of the main doors and stopped short. Titania waved a hand at them to stay out of it.

Ike struggled to find something to say. Soren could see him in his peripheral vision, his brow knit into a valley.

“They don’t deserve apologies,” Soren said under his breath.

Lethe lashed her tail. “What was that?” she said.

“Did you come here to complain at us or actually do your job?” Soren snapped. “Because so far all you’ve done is rant about how superior you sub-humans are compared to us and air your grievances. You want to be called ‘human’? The only thing human about you is your conceit!”

Lethe took a small step away from Mordecai. Her mouth twitched as she made a chittering sound through her teeth. Mordecai’s legs tensed. His claws dug into the earth.

The tiger pounced.

Soren felt the breath go out of him in an instant. In a flash all he could see were those two rows of predatory teeth and saliva, a motion of blue like a sky thrown asunder, and then a shadow crossed his view and Soren was elbowed to the ground, and standing in front of him—

Ike grimaced, angled to keep Mordecai’s jaw around his bicep and not his already-injured forearm.

Mordecai withdrew his teeth and backed away sheepishly, ears flat and tail twining around his hind legs. He bumped into a low stone wall and lowered his head.

“Oh, no, no, no,” he mumbled, “Mordecai has done a bad thing… oh, Mordecai did not mean to hurt Ike…”

“Ike!” Soren shouted.

He scrambled to his feet and tried to get a clearer view of the injury, but Titania yanked him back with her hand like a vice around his arm. She tugged Soren back until he was against her armor.

“ _Enough_ ,” she said through her teeth.

Soren held his tongue. His face was flushed; his legs were suddenly weak from a belated rush of adrenaline. Ike was talking with Mordecai and Lethe, but Soren could barely hear them over the ringing in his head. His hands were empty. He’d dropped his own spellbook in the heat of the moment.

Ike was gesticulating with one hand—the other clasped the wound on his arm—and whatever he was saying seemed to work, for Lethe and Mordecai’s tails were more relaxed and their posture at ease.

Soren glowered at Lethe. Lethe caught him staring and bared one of her preternaturally sharp canine teeth at him.

Titania squeezed Soren’s arm.

“Inside,” she said close to his ear. “ _Now_.”

“You aren’t my mother,” Soren muttered, but he let himself get dragged along, unable to bear looking at Ike or either of the Gallian cats. He dimly heard Boyd crack a poorly-timed joke with Oscar as they filed into the castle after them. Rolf was by the long windowed hallway and pretended like he hadn’t been watching the whole thing.

Titania had no intention of letting Soren leave without a talking-to, and, sullenly, Soren kept his feet moving at her suddenly brisk pace through the old castle’s west wing. Maternal anger and disappointment boiled off of her in palpable waves.

Soren chewed on the inside of his cheek until it bled. In the span of a single morning, everything had fallen apart, and right when it seemed like things would work out again, it all went sideways.

 _Useless_ , Soren thought at himself. _You’re useless. All you do is make problems worse._

_Some human you are._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every time im presented with a game script that i could just directly write out and save myself the trouble i go "no thanks" and rewrite a tiny-ass scene that takes me long hours of brain hell haha #writinglife amirite
> 
> (also i know tigers don't purr but this is fantasy shhh)
> 
> thanks 4 reading, be safe


	23. Chapter 23

The cats were good company once their moods improved. Lethe had a critical eye and crinkled her nose at everyone she encountered, but Mordecai was more than happy to meet and greet the rest of the company. He’d shifted back to his own humanoid form: burly and barrel-chested with blue stripes along his cheeks, arms covered in thick strands of light cyan-blue hair like the cropped cut on his head. He was big, but he moved like he was afraid to tread on ants.

Ike made introductions until his throat was dry from speaking for so long. His right arm ached; Mordecai’s bite hadn’t been that deep, since the tiger had withdrawn almost as soon as he’d tasted flesh, but it still smarted fiercely. Ike left the laguz chatting with Boyd, Mia, and Rolf and made his way to the infirmary. He clumsily dressed the wound on his own. His right wrist was still bound by a splint, and it limited how far he was able to manipulate his dominant hand. Ike pulled the linen wrap taut with his teeth and tucked in the edges to hide it under his sleeve.

His stomach was tight. Belatedly Ike realized he’d never actually eaten anything at breakfast.

 _There has to be something left over,_ he thought as he crossed to the dining hall. _Even just a scrap of burnt venison…_

He opened the door and stopped short.

There was a girl sitting on one of the long benches.

She slumped over the table, forehead pressed against it and lavender tresses fallen around her head from a loose tie at her shoulders.

 _Oh, I do_ not _have the energy to deal with this,_ Ike thought.

He rested his hand on the pommel of his iron sword and cleared his throat.

“Who are you and what business do you have here?” he asked.

“I’m…hungry…” mumbled the girl.

“You’re what?”

The girl lifted her head; she had a red patch on her forehead from where she’d been leaning against the table, and her eyes were half-lidded like she’d been asleep.

“Do you have any food?” she asked.

“Do you work for Daein?” Ike countered.

The girl shook her head and wearily rested her chin on the table. She wasn’t in Daein colors—her skirts were striped with lavender and violet, and she wore a pale lilac capelet over a simple linen shirt. Ike let himself relax for only a second.

“I mean, I’m _from_ Daein,” the girl said, “but I don’t work for them. I help out a group of Daeinish merchants, and we were coming down here through Crimea, but we got separated at the border. I thought I’d die from famine before I found them again. But then I smelled something tasty and tracked it to this kitchen…”

“…And you let yourself in through the castle’s back door when it was unguarded?” Ike guessed.

“No, I broke a window.”

The girl gestured with her thumb at a pile of shattered glass underneath one of the tall windows.

Ike very slowly covered his face with his hands.

“Hey, Oscar? Can you come in here for a minute?” he called down the hallway.

Thankfully, Oscar was close enough to hear, and he jogged over still wearing shin guards and pauldrons. Ike stepped aside so Oscar could take in the newcomer.

“Can you cook something for our uninvited guest, please?” Ike asked him.

“I—of course, Commander,” Oscar replied, brow slanted with confusion. He leaned in and added in an undertone, “Who is she? Can we trust her?”

“She’s hungry,” Ike said just as quietly. “I’m not about to turn someone away just because they need help that we can give. That said, if you can get a name from her and check if she has any plans or an itinerary or something, that’s one less headache for me.”

“Of course. I’m pretty sure we have some strips of venison I can fry up with brown butter for her. Unless she’s vegetarian—but I can just as easily swap in a different protein, but I’d have to check what’s left in our provisions from the old fort…let’s see…”

Ike tailed Oscar into the kitchen just long enough to steal a piece of dried meat before he slipped out the other galley entrance, making his way around the back of the castle. He could dimly hear Titania’s voice through a thick wooden door down a west-wing hallway.

And she did _not_ sound happy.

 _I’ll be back,_ Ike thought with a twang of guilt. _I need to check on something first…_

He latched the back door carefully behind him and swung around to the front of Gebal Castle to the woods.

The golden sword was right where the Black Knight had thrown it.

It stood eerily in the clearing where he and Greil had fought, off-center, surrounded by grass and churned-up dirt smoothed over by rain. Ike approached it as slowly as if he were approaching a scared animal. The ground was pockmarked with small muddy pools—the traces of footprints and heavy armor filled in by rain—and the soles of Ike’s boots were covered in mud by the time he’d crossed the narrow field. The trees rustled like they held secrets in their branches.

The sword was tall, even partly stuck in the dirt as it was. The hilt easily came to Ike’s sternum. He reached out and touched the pommel—

—waited with bated breath—

—but nothing happened. Ike let his breath out low and tugged the blade out; it came free from the ground as if it was merely stuck in butter, and the sudden top-heavy weight of it made Ike scramble to catch it in both hands before it fell. It was a two-handed blade, the hilt sized for hands twice as large as Ike’s, but the curious thing was it seemed to hum with a latent buzz of energy that permeated the leather hilt and thrummed against Ike’s fingertips.

 _What are you?_ he thought, examining it. Dirt clung to its blade, but the metal underneath was polished enough to show Ike’s own face looking blurrily back at him. He furrowed his brow and held the sword aloft as best he could with an injured wrist. It was both heavy and light, broad and narrow, like something within the blade was trying to trick Ike into thinking it was something else. Ike shook his head like a dog’s to clear the mental fog that threatened to close in on him.

“…I’m going to find you,” Ike said aloud.

He looked among the trees, among the dappled shade and rough-barked trunks, half expecting that black-and-silver armor to peer out at him from the woods. Ike’s grip tightened on the sword hilt. The tip of the blade dragged against the grass.

“I don’t care who you are or where you went, or what magic you used, because I have this now. And… and if you ever come after my family again, I’m going to make you regret it.”

The woods said nothing. Ike wiped his brow and carried the sword back with him along the trail.

When he returned to Gebal Castle Ike snuck the golden sword in among their other weaponry, wrapping it in cloth and binding it with rope as if it was a dangerous animal. Sleep dragged at his eyelids. Ike pushed it aside and navigated the wide stone hallways of the castle, avoiding those he didn’t wish to speak with, until he found the door he was looking for.

He found Soren in the west-wing study, lying on his back in a window seat, face angled against the glass to look up at the sky.

“Are you here to lecture me, too?” Soren asked, deadpan, barely looking up when Ike entered and shut the door behind him. “Because Titania went off for twenty-two and a half minutes about civility and all manner of foreign attitudes that I could recite back at you near-verbatim.”

Ike shook his head and came over to sit near Soren. There was an armchair with carved wooden legs and a cushion covered in old cat hair; Ike sat on the ground with his back against the leg instead. It was a curious effect having to look _up_ at Soren, but Ike kept his posture lax and nonthreatening.

“I’m not here to lecture you,” Ike said, “I’m here to _check_ on you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my best friend? Because you acted really weird earlier and I wanted to know why?”

Soren laughed once, humorlessly. “You’re far too selfless, Ike,” he said. “Your father just died, yet you’re making the rounds and making new friends as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.”

Ike shrugged and shifted until he could stretch both legs out over the area rug. The study was a compact room filled with textiles and more of the Gallian hooked rugs; a large fireplace against the western wall was filled with the charred remains of tree trunks; plush armchairs were stationed around the room next to mismatched end tables hewn from stone and thick carved blocks of wood.

It would have been a cozy space were it not for Soren’s chilly mood. Ike could have reached a hand out and wouldn’t have been surprised if the hem of Soren’s robe was frost instead of cloth.

“It’s because I need to keep moving,” Ike said quietly. He could feel Soren’s gaze flicker to him, but Ike kept his own eyes firmly on the stone wall that jutted into the window seat, letting the fine-textured granite smear together in his vision. “If I slow down, I can’t finish my father’s work. He wanted to help Elincia with her business in Gallia, so I need to see this through for him. I can’t honor that request if I mess up negotiating with the people we need to help us.”

They were both quiet for a bit. Eventually Soren huffed a short breath through his nose.

“I’m sorry,” said Soren. “For…” he gestured vaguely at the window, “…earlier.”

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” Ike replied.

Soren let out a little annoyed snort, but he waved one hand in a gesture Ike knew meant ‘ _yeah, yeah, I’ll get around to it_ ’.

“What got into you, anyway?” Ike asked. “With the laguz. I’ve _never_ seen you get that angry before.”

Soren fidgeted with something in his hands. Ike craned his neck to see; it was the tasseled fringe on an old woven throw blanket that Soren must have stuffed against the window for a bit of comfort.

“He could have _killed_ you, Ike,” Soren said after a pause.

“Who?”

“The—Mordecai, the blue one, who else?”

Ike sighed, “Well, if _you_ hadn’t _provoked_ him or Lethe, then he wouldn’t have lunged, right?”

“I…well, yes, but—” Soren broke off, grumbling something Ike couldn’t pick up. “They’re sub—”

“Don’t use that word,” Ike said warningly.

“Laguz, then, they’re—!” Again Soren swallowed whatever words he wanted to add. “They… they aren’t _kind_. I can’t fathom why princess Elincia wants to seek political favors from them.”

“Did they do something to you?” Ike asked softly.

It was a quiet question, but somehow Soren flinched as if it had been a tangible blow. His fingers tightened around the corner of the throw blanket.

“You don’t want to hear about it,” Soren said.

Ike frowned. “I do, actually—”

“No, you don’t,” Soren said, sitting up with a sudden bite to his tone.

He caught himself and leaned back against the window seat; he turned away to look out at the yard. He tucked a strand of black hair behind his ear. Now that the clouds had mostly parted from the sky, a bit of ambient sunlight could filter in, brushing against his bangs and that curious mark on his forehead.

Ike’s chest ached; reluctantly he leaned back until he couldn’t read Soren’s face anymore.

“I won’t pry if you don’t want to talk about it,” Ike said. “But I’ll be here if you do.”

A stretch of silence. Sparrow chatter from a bush just outside the window. And then Soren’s small voice:

“Alright.”

Ike let his posture slip even further; the rug underneath him was surprisingly comfortable. He rested his head back against the chair seat. He closed his eyes.

He woke a few hours later, groggy and without memory of dreams. Ike reached up to rub away the sleep-grit from his eyes and almost startled himself when a brush of color crossed his vision.

Someone had draped a tasseled throw blanket loosely over his chest while he was dozing.

Ike folded the blanket over the chair when he stood up, making sure it wouldn’t fall off as soon as his back was turned. The study door was slightly ajar, and Ike saw a flicker of a tawny tail through the gap in the doorway. He poked his head out.

Lethe was lounging in cat form on a rug down the hallway, kneading the hoops of thread with her paws and shaking them irritably whenever her claws caught in them. She glanced at Ike out of the corner of her eye but didn’t speak until he’d closed the distance between them.

“There you are,” she said, yawning wide until her whiskers brushed her cheeks. “Your little raven-haired cretin said you were resting in there.”

“Did Soren apologize for earlier?” Ike asked. “And please don’t call him that. He has a name just like you do.”

Lethe’s ears flicked back against her head for a moment, but she quelled whatever emotion was making her muzzle scrunch up as well. She yawned again and in a flash of magic she was back to humanoid form—pale-skinned on two legs, dressed in market clothes, tawny tail swishing agitatedly behind her. Lethe folded her hands on her hips.

“Mordecai was all too ready to let that little spat go,” she said, “but I am no fool. Laguz do not forget. See to it that your beorc company does not make any aggressions against us again during our travel together.”

“I will,” Ike said, though Lethe’s words needled uncomfortably at him.

“Hmph. Your deputy commander said to wait for you to wake before we move,” Lethe continued, “and, now that you’ve risen, we can be on our way. Zarzi is several days’ travel for human legs. I would have liked us moving two hours ago, but she was awfully insistent, and it _did_ give us time to hunt so I can’t entirely fault her.”

“Let me get the last of my things upstairs,” Ike said. “I’ll meet you outside.”

Lethe agreed, and soon Ike was in his own borrowed room to get his red cloak. He tightened the knot at his shoulder that kept the fabric in place underneath its top folds and took a moment to rub his temples, feeling a headache coming on.

 _Everyone’s rooted in their own prejudices, it looks like,_ he thought wearily. _The laguz, us beorc—Lethe and Soren—and we’ve only been in Gallia for a_ day _. Father would know how to handle this better._

_But Father isn’t here._

_And it’s all my fault._

_And I feel too hollow to even cry._

Ike grimaced and held his hands up against his head for a moment longer, just until that prickling sensation of a fresh headache settled in against his skull. When he closed his eyes, all he could see were flashes of red and black and silver and gold and pain and blood and rain-soaked grass and the bright light of a healing staff and he forced himself to blink awake with a _gasp._

His hands trembled against his head. Slowly Ike let them fall to his sides.

When he made it outside, he peeked at the supplies piled in front of Gebal Castle and, sure enough, that golden sword was right in there like a wolf among foxhounds. Ike took it in the pack he slung over his shoulders and ignored the protest of pain across his chest. Mordecai and Lethe were waiting for the company to assemble down by the treeline.

“Ike, are you alright?” Titania asked, riding up beside him on her horse.

“I’m fine,” Ike said.

He readjusted the weight on his back and waved the company forward. Titania kept her horse reined in beside him and only nudged it forward when Ike himself started to walk.

“Ike, a lot has happened to you in less than a day,” Titania said. “I…we’d all understand if you need to take a break.”

“I’m fine, honestly,” Ike lied. “I just need to keep moving. Can you check with Lethe about the number of scouting patrols we should rotate?”

Titania nodded. “Yes, Commander,” she said, though her voice swung on a hinge of uncertainty and concern. She nudged her heels against her destrier’s sides and trotted it to the front of the line.

Ike shouldered his burden, set his jaw, and marched on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> local teen doesn't know how to process trauma, more at eleven


	24. Chapter 24

Gallia was a wooded country dense with nature and secrets. Titania kept one hand firmly on the reins of her horse, sensing the animal’s unease whenever they passed through stretches of too-thick woodland. Behind her, she could hear Oscar murmuring to his own horse like it was a nervous child who didn’t want to get stitches. The rest of the company spread out in front and behind them along the uneven trail the laguz were leading them along, thick with ferns and lichen-covered boulders, winding up and down like the undulating curves of a dead creature’s spine.

In the end, they’d only kept three horses—Titania’s own white destrier, Oscar’s slim-legged chestnut, and Greil’s gray destrier that snorted at anyone who put their hands too close to its flanks. Titania was heartbroken to reduce the beast to a pack animal, but no one else wanted to ride it—and it would let no one but Titania or Mist anywhere near it.

“I’m so sorry about your rider,” Titania had told the horse when they were packing up outside Gebal Castle. She patted its broad neck, and the destrier snorted with wide nostrils, cocking its back hoof as if to kick at an unseen harasser.

Titania secured its lead rope to her own destrier’s saddle and let it be. _Maybe horses need to grieve, too,_ she’d thought.

The woods were teeming with birdsong and rustling leaves, but the company was grimly silent as they marched in the laguz’ wake. Even the newcomer, Ilyana, could sense the black mood that had descended over the party and kept quiet. She had as big of an appetite as Ike on a normal day and had clearly attached herself to Oscar knowing he was the primary chef and food source of the company. Titania kept a close eye on her. The girl was a year older than Mist and looked like a stiff breeze could knock her over.

But she knew thunder magic. The first night when they’d made camp, Ilyana had sniped two wild turkeys passing on the other side of the meadow with a casual flick of her wrist and a bolt of magic. The pages in her spellbook had flared from bright lightning into char so quickly that even Soren had flinched at it.

By the time they stopped to camp the second night, Titania was burning with tense frustration. Her fingers twitched for her battleaxe and she caught herself scanning the woods fervently for any signs of black-armored Daeins stalking the shadows. They’d found no signs of Greil’s murderer. Ike hadn’t said a word about it. But Titania was restless.

They’d settled on a loose slope mostly free from rocks and tree roots, shaded by lush oaks and birches. Ike oversaw their setup with a detached sort of efficiency.

“Mordecai, take Lethe and sweep a two-mile radius,” he said. “Soren, take inventory. Titania, tend the horses. Oscar, take who you need to start dinner. Rhys…”

He was like that until everyone had their jobs assigned—no pleasure, no malice, just stone-dry delegation.

Titania followed her orders without question, was just as curt to Soren as he was to her when he tallied their tack, and found herself finished with nothing else to do far earlier than she would’ve liked. The sun was setting, and given the dense cover of the trees they’d be swimming in long-shadowed dusk within the hour. Ilyana was trying to get a small fire started with thunder magic, but the twigs she’d piled together barely held a spark between them.

“I’m going to chop firewood,” Titania said, rising to get Boyd’s woodcutter’s axe. She looked at no one and strode through the ferns until she’d put a small rise between herself and camp. Old chunks of ancient basalt worn gray from weathering and woods jutted out from the leaf litter that carpeted the forest. She found a fallen birch tree as thick as her thigh propped up in the fork of a neighboring oak. With a few overhand swings she severed its bushy branches from its trunk and dragged it to a level patch of ground to chop up further.

She’d managed to split three forearm-length pieces from the trunk when she heard footsteps crunching towards her from the direction of camp. Titania straightened, wiping her brow with her arm, as Oscar rounded the rise.

“You’re not cooking?” Titania said.

“Rolf and Mist are prepping ingredients,” Oscar replied, “and I sent Mia to fetch water for the pot. I find it’s rather difficult to warm up pots and pans for cooking without a heat source.”

Titania grunted and swung her axe down. The trunk split with a _crack_.

Oscar watched her swing. After a few more pieces fell from the trunk at large he spoke up.

“You aren’t…coping well,” he said carefully.

Titania let the axe thud into the trunk. She picked up the smaller pieces she’d already chopped and piled them by a nearby rock.

“What gave it away?” she said dryly. “Harsh temper? General prickliness?”

Oscar winced. He gingerly picked up the firewood and ordered them neatly on top of the rock.

“We’re all handling Greil’s passing…differently,” he said. “I’ve been counting every species of bird I’ve seen for the past two days. Rhys cried himself to sleep last night. I’ve no doubt he’ll do the same again tonight.”

“Ashera…” Titania cursed under her breath.

“We’ve worked together for too long, Titania; you can talk to me. Bottling it up won’t do you any good.”

“Tell that to Ike,” Titania said, swinging her axe down so sharply that a small chunk of wood flew off and nearly hit Oscar in the shin. “The boy’s been near-silent for two days now. He’s as reticent as Soren on a good day, I swear…”

“Did something happen with you two?” Oscar asked. He came over to help Titania steady the tree for its final few cuts—the roots were too gnarled and covered in dirt to be much use as tinder. “You and Soren weren’t the friendliest of folks to begin with, but ever since those laguz joined us you two have been… well, ‘standoffish’ isn’t the nicest of terms, but…”

Titania sighed. She rested the axe blade against the tree for a moment.

“He was acting out of turn,” she said, looking at the split bark on the tree trunk. “Insulted our guides to their faces and provoked them into attacking. So I lectured him. Maybe I took it too far—but I’d rather lose my temper and leave the boy with a scolding than let him get himself killed for lack of tact.”

She paused. Greil’s death was a storm of emotions that threatened to rend her apart if she acknowledged them. Grief. Sorrow. Futility. The barely-tempered wrath of a furnace in her veins that demanded justice and retribution.

“We lost a leader and a friend,” she said quietly. “Ike and Mist lost a father. I may not be their mother by blood, but I’ll be damned if I let them lose anyone like that again. Not me, not you, not anyone in our company—Greil said we’re a family, and by the Goddess we’re going to live like one. And if that means being a bit harsh to the children, then I’ll take responsibility for that. Someone has to.”

Oscar was quiet for a bit. Titania picked up the axe and carefully swung it just enough to cleave the final pieces from the fallen tree.

“Well, for the record,” he said, “I think that there’s—”

He stopped short. Something rustled through the leaf litter coming up the hill behind them.

Titania spun around, woodcutter’s axe at her shoulder in a ready position, and Oscar grabbed one of the chopped firewood logs to use as a bludgeon.

A young woman was coming up through the woods, unarmed and wearing a simple red-leather jerkin over a white linen shirt. Her short, pale pink hair was tousled and stuck up like bedhead. She caught sight of Titania and waved with her entire arm.

“Hello-o-o-o!” she called, beaming a bright smile. “Hi there! Gee, I _thought_ I heard woodcutting—are either of you farriers or smithies by any chance?”

Titania spared Oscar a single warning glance; he nodded and stepped around her, giving her ample room to swing should she need it. The rest of the woods were clear save for a few finches twittering in a nearby oak.

“That’s close enough,” Titania said when the girl was forty feet away. “Before I answer your question, you answer mine: do you work for Daein?”

“Daein?” The girl snorted. “ _Goddess_ , no, what a bunch of meatheads! I’m a Begnion pegasus knight, actually.”

“Awfully far from Begnion’s borders,” Oscar said. Aside from the vast forests, Gallia was separated from its eastern neighbors by a sharp mountain range that made foot travel arduous and nigh-impossible.

“I’m not…exactly…on state-sanctioned business,” said the girl. “My name’s Marcia—I’m looking for my brother, he’s about _this_ high—” she stood on tip-toes and leveled her hand against a sapling for comparison—“has the same hair as me but a little curlier, smells like ale and has a sack of bricks for brains, you seen him?”

“We haven’t seen anyone that matches that description,” Titania said. _Nor do I think we want to,_ she added as an afterthought.

“Cheese and crackers!” Marcia cursed. “Ah, well, it was worth a shot. Big lug’s gonna get one hell of a talking-to when I’m through with him, I tell you what…”

“Why do you need a farrier?” Oscar asked.

“My horse—pegasus, to be technical,” said Marcia. “She’s grounded with a wing sprain, and the land here’s not kind to horses; she knocked her hoof on some rocks trying to jump and now one of her shoes is loose. I don’t have any nails on me to fix it.”

Oscar clicked his tongue sympathetically; Titania lowered her axe. If this Marcia was planning on leading them to a Daein ambush, she’d picked the right heartstrings to pull, but the fact that the woods were calm eased Titania’s fears. If there _was_ trouble, Lethe or Mordecai would have sniffed it out by now.

“Sure, I can take a look,” Oscar said.

“I’m not letting you go alone,” Titania murmured.

Oscar nodded so minutely Titania would have missed it if she’d blinked. Marcia led them down the hill and around another small dip in the ground to a low-laying outcrop of stone, where she’d stuffed her belongings under a natural eave and started a rudimentary collection of tinder.

The pegasus stood in the shade, tail swishing lazily behind it. It was a brilliant speckled red roan; its wings were banded with white and deep russet like a red-shouldered hawk. One of its wings was bound to its side, but the other fluffed up as the animal reared its head back, nostrils flared at Titania and Oscar.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright, girl,” Marcia said. “These are new friends! They’re gonna help you out. Now be a dear and show them your hoof, okay?”

Marcia hooked her fingers under the pegasus’s bridle and led the animal over to Oscar, who ran his hands over the animal’s shoulder to let it know he was there before bending to take its foreleg.

Titania stood by Marcia at the pegasus’s head. Now that it had a chance to learn their scents, the pegasus was more curious than antsy, and it strained its head forward to sniff at Titania. Marcia giggled.

“She likes you,” she said.

“What’s her name?” Titania asked.

“Casserole. I just call her Cass half the time.”

“I…see.”

Casserole brushed her velvety nose against Titania’s collarbone and nibbled at the hem of her shirt. Titania let out a little laugh that surprised both her and the pegasus. Casserole pricked her ears and turned her affection to Marcia. Marcia handed her a sugar cube from her pocket.

“The good news,” Oscar said, straightening up and dusting his hands off on his pants, “is that I can fix this. The bad news is we’ll have to bring your pegasus uphill to our camp, because that’s where our tools are.”

“Sounds good to me,” Marcia said. “I’ll get my stuff!”

“It _also_ means we’ll need approval from our commander,” Titania added, but either Marcia didn’t hear her or she didn’t care. Marcia tied her belongings to Casserole’s saddle—including a bundle of wooden javelins, Titania noticed—and took the reins, ready to follow.

“Is Ike going to like this?” Oscar asked Titania once they started up the hill.

“We’ll find out,” Titania said under her breath.

When they returned to camp, the laguz still hadn’t come back from their patrol, but Rolf and Mist were more than eager to show Oscar what a good job they did dicing the tubers for the soup. They ran up to him with bright smiles that turned to slack-jawed gasps seeing Marcia’s pegasus. Marcia laughed and let the two kids stroke Casserole’s neck.

“Where’s Ike?” Titania asked Mist.

“Right here,” said Ike, coming over to their group while he brushed a bit of dirt off his gloves. He still wore his iron sword at his hip, but he’d stripped off his brace and changed the dressing on his arm. He tilted his chin at Marcia. “Who’s this?”

“My name’s Marcia, but you can call me handsome—I mean, _you’re_ handsome,” Marcia sputtered, blushing as red as her jerkin. “I’m a former pegasus knight of Begnion.”

“Former?” Ike said. Not a hint of color marred his cheeks at Marcia’s slip. He looked more tired than anything else.

“Yeah, I’ve taken a, uh, shall we say ‘personal leave’ to hunt down my good-for-nothing brother. Your friends here offered to help with my pegasus since she’s got a loose shoe and can’t really fly until her wing’s better.”

“Huh.”

Ike tapped his fingers on his belt, running some sort of calculation in his head.

“What sort of skills do you have?” he asked.

“Well, I’m an ace flier when my pegasus isn’t grounded,” Marcia said, tallying on her fingers as she went. “I can throw a javelin and knock an apple off a tree from a hundred feet away, I once won the annual South Sienne soup-making contest—no, that was soup- _eating_ , but it still counts for something ‘cause I won a medal off it…”

Ike took in Marcia’s rambling with a painfully neutral expression. Titania wanted to step in, to say something, but she held herself back.

_This is his job now,_ she thought.

Once Marcia finished her spiel, Ike held his hand out to her.

“You’re welcome to join us on a more permanent position than a veterinary visit,” he said. “I can’t promise decent pay or consistent work, since we’re currently on a diplomatic mission to Zarzi, but if you’re fine working with a destitute band of mercenaries then we’d be happy to have you.”

“Really? Oh, that’s about the best news I’ve heard all day, thank you!” Marcia exclaimed. “I promise I’ll pull my weight! Once Casserole’s back to normal, we’ll be scouting the skies for you easy as slicing a pie!”

“Casserole?” Ike said, furrowing his brow.

“My pegasus!”

“…Ah.”

“Alright, sous chefs, take these logs and start a fire,” Oscar said, handing Rolf and Mist each an armful of firewood he’d collected on their way back. “I need to help our new recruit with a horseshoe.”

Titania stayed with Ike out of the way while people dispersed. Only when everyone else was a sufficient distance away did Ike let his shoulders relax.

“Well done,” Titania said, turning to him.

Ike shrugged. His left hand idly wandered to scratch at his shoulder.

“We need more members,” he said flatly. “I’m not about to refuse a capable fighter just because her mount is incapacitated. In the morning, I’d like you to help me facilitate introductions in case Marcia has any…opinions about laguz.”

“Of course, Commander.”

Ike winced. He slowly walked away, red cloak dragging at his shoulders, until he’d let the dappled dusky shadows of the forest conceal him.

_Oh, Ike,_ Titania thought with a pang in her heart. _He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s in pain._ She sighed. _…Neither do I, I suppose._

She cast a look at Soren, who was sitting by himself among the roots of a gnarled tree with a book in his hands. Soren caught her staring and narrowed his eyes, quickly turning around so she was forced to look at his back instead.

_Or Soren, for that matter. Seems we’ve all got a bit of Greil’s stubbornness in us after all._

Titania shook her head and pulled her braid over her shoulder to pick out a few chips of wood that had gotten stuck in it from her woodcutting. Mist and Rolf suddenly shouted with glee—the fire they’d built sparked to life and was happily burning up tinder. Boyd whooped a little too loudly when he saw the tiny orange blaze. Mia started to clap.

It was just a cooking fire. Titania had built and doused a thousand fires just like it in her time. But she smiled at the crackling pile of logs and sticks anyway.

It was a small victory. And, even if it would only last the night, it felt justified enough to celebrate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im setting a precedent w/interesting coat combos bc i wanna give tanith a pegasus w/peregrine falcon wings later on and no one can stop me
> 
> uhhh updates:  
> \- added a couple new tags (and a note at the beginning of ch1 so new readers dont come in w/the wrong expectations)  
> \- im doing art fight this year so i'll try to keep posting regularly in july when im not Drawing  
> \- trans rights  
> \- be safe have a good day and do something nice for yourself


	25. Chapter 25

Elincia had ridden many a horse in her lifetime. As a child, she and her retainers and friends would lead fine slim-legged palfreys from the villa stables and canter across the open fields on the property, hair and manes and tails all awhirl until they were called back inside and bade to dress for dinner. Even pegasi with their oddly-outfitted saddles that conformed over the bulk of their wing joints were familiar enough beasts.

But tigers. Riding on a tiger was an entirely different affair.

Not long after leaving Gebal Castle in Ranulf’s company, a cat scout approached from the west and promptly saluted.

“Storm’s coming,” they said, jutting their chin up at the dark sky.

“…So it is,” Ranulf said. He narrowed his eyes, tracing the patterns of whatever clouds he could see through the treetops.

Elincia laced her fingers together in front of her. Ranulf’s patrol of laguz kept a tight circle around her as they followed a winding dirt-and-grass trail, and while she appreciated the guard, she found herself sorely missing the familiar whinnies of the Greil Mercenaries’ horses and the smell of metal and leather. The cat-folk and tiger-folk, even in their humanoid forms, all smelled like woodspice and dander.

 _Do not insult them,_ Elincia thought, keeping her hands steady. _A ruler must bear an open mind to all manner of creature, no matter how different they seem._

The woods shivered. Elincia nervously looked around; they’d started west from Gebal Castle and had reached what Gallia considered a main road, though it was still fringed with heavy woodland. The trees reached overhead and let their roots creep over the road as if trying to reclaim it from wayward travelers.

Ranulf made a chittering noise in the back of his throat.

“We make for Solhaut’s Pass before moonheight,” he announced. “From there we can take the river path south and make it to Zarzi in two days’ time.”

“What of the others?” Elincia asked.

“Your mercenary friends will be just fine,” Ranulf said. “I’ll send a few of my patrol back to escort them once day breaks. We’re taking a different route than they will—beorc can’t handle the thick woods nearly as well as laguz can, and you can forget about sending a horse galloping along the roads. There’s so many twists and turns and old-growth roots that you’ll end up breaking the poor thing’s legs if you try to match our speed.”

Elincia squinted at the nearby roots distrustfully. _Hurt a good steed—how dare you!_

“Two days…” she said. “But I don’t believe I can run that fast _without_ a horse, my lord Ranulf.”

Ranulf’s nose scrunched up and he laughed. Sweeping an arm across his chest and half-bowing, he added, “Princess, please, I am no lord, just a warrior. You need not keep up such formalities with me.”

Elincia felt herself blush, but she nodded anyway and swallowed down her embarrassment.

“Of course, my—Ranulf,” she said.

“There! Is that so hard?”

“Not with practice,” Elincia admitted.

“Excellent!”

Ranulf clapped his hands together. One of the broad-shouldered fellows in their circle stepped forward and shifted into a bulky indigo-furred tiger rippling with muscle beneath his pelt.

“This is Ezra,” Ranulf said. “He’ll be your transportation this evening.”

Ezra bowed his striped head. Elincia forced her hands to keep from shaking. The tiger’s head was eye-level to herself, and up close she could see his protruding fangs were tinged yellow at the tips.

It took her a beat more to realize what Ranulf was suggesting.

“I—you mean me to _ride_ him?” she said.

“The most direct route to Zarzi is a laguz road. It’s awfully difficult to navigate efficiently if you’re not moving with laguz feet.”

Elincia wrung her hands together and urged her heart to stop beating so fast.

 _Father would not hesitate so,_ she thought. _He would gladly accept the hand of an ally even if the favor seemed strange at the time._

She took a small breath and smiled at the tiger.

“Is that acceptable to you, good Ezra?” she asked him.

“I would not have volunteered were it not,” he replied.

“Then I will graciously accept your help.”

Ezra crouched to let Elincia climb onto his back, and the moment she got her other leg situated the tiger rose and scratched his claws against the dirt.

Ranulf gave another nonverbal signal. The entire patrol shifted into beastial forms in a flash of light that made Elincia rub her eyes. As one, the laguz surged forward and let the earth fly beneath their paws.

The thunderstorm broke just as they reached Solhaut’s Pass, a wide shelf of exposed bedrock with a long indent of sheltered land underneath it. Although the bouts of booming thunder kept making Elincia yelp with surprise, she eventually curled into a restful sleep against Ranulf’s warm cat-form flanks sometime after midnight.

In the morning, Ranulf sent two of their escort—a sky-blue tiger and a tawny cat—back into the northern woods. Elincia had to stop herself from giving one of them a piece of silk from her skirts as a favor for luck.

 _They will be fine,_ she thought. _I shall see them all safe and well in Zarzi. I wonder—what sorts of food do they enjoy at the capital? Perhaps when we see one another again, I can commission my lord Oscar for a celebratory feast in honor of Master Greil’s charity? I should have at least a full day’s advantage…maybe I shall find a gift for each of them as a token of appreciation…_

Elincia kept her thoughts bright as the laguz raced through the thick central forests of Gallia. For two days straight they ran, taking breaks to let Elincia stretch her legs and swap between the two tigers that volunteered to be her transport. Their gait was wholly different from a horse’s—Elincia nearly got thrown off the tiger’s back the first few times they loped into a run because her legs wanted to grip the beast’s sides as if it was a horse. Eventually she learned to lean over their shoulders like a racehorse jockey and grip the thick bristly fur along their spines.

She spent most of that first ride at night holding on to Ezra’s neck for dear life. But the next morning, once she got the hang of it, Elincia let herself relax long enough to really look up and appreciate the scenery as they traveled.

The laguz could _run_. They soared over meadows in the blink of an eye and darted around trees like they were reeds in a marsh; what would have taken a horse twice as long to maneuver the laguz did with efficiency and grace. Rocks and roots were nothing to the leaps and bounds of muscled cats who knew the terrain as intimately as their own names.

Late afternoon on the second day they reached Gallia’s capital. Zarzi was built among the trees and rock—every home Elincia could see seemed to mold around the natural landscape and incorporate it into their walls. Some had built treehouses and rigged them to rope-and-wood bridges or planks that had been stuck into the trunks to act as staircases. A large clearing in the shadow of a gray mountain served as the city’s main hub. A bazaar sprawled over the area closest to the palace and was strung with brightly-dyed canvases and molded brass bells that danced and sang in the wind. Laguz of all colors perked up from their end-of-day bartering to peer at Elincia and Ranulf as the escort cut through the bazaar to the palace grounds. The air was tinged with salt and spice, and Elincia breathed in the scents deeply as they arrived at the gates.

Two tiger guards and one cat, untransformed, stood at attention at the palace’s round-topped main doors. Elincia slid gratefully from Ezra’s back and gave him a quick hug around the neck before he returned to his bipedal form.

Ranulf shifted back to two legs and rolled his shoulders as he hailed the guards. Elincia took one last longing look at the Zarzi bazaar before joining Ranulf mid-conversation.

“And where is King Caineghis?” Ranulf was asking.

“He arrived earlier this afternoon,” said the cat guard, peering around Ranulf’s shoulder to eye Elincia curiously. “Shall I fetch him?”

“Please; let him know Princess Elincia has arrived safe and sound upon his threshold as promised. We can arrange a formal meeting at, say, eight?”

“Oh, please, is there a chance I can speak with the king now?” Elincia asked. “I’ve traveled a long way and at the expense of many good deeds to be here. I would not be able to sleep tonight knowing I’d delayed any longer.”

If Ranulf was taken aback, he did not show it. Smooth as silk he added, “Yes, please see if the king can admit Princess Elincia at his soonest convenience. We’ll be in the Sunrise pavilion.”

The cat laguz bowed his head and opened the doors for them. Before Elincia could wander too far into the yawning central foyer, Ranulf gave a quick whistle and beckoned her towards a wide hallway on the right. She followed him past a score of crocheted wall hangings and up a flight of stairs to a lounge upon a south-facing balcony.

“We can await a summons here, if it’s all the same to you,” Ranulf said.

“Of course,” said Elincia. “May I sit?”

“Please!”

Elincia bundled her skirts in one hand and sat gently on a wooden couch lined with plush velvet. She slipped off her shoes with a wince. Her heels were blistered; one had started to rub raw and had left a trail of dried blood under her ankle. The soles of her flats were scuffed and mud-stained, and her long skirts were ripped ragged.

 _Material concerns,_ she thought with a twinge of guilt. _My people are suffering from far more than torn clothes. I cannot hope to represent them if I don’t at least share their woes. What is a blister—or five—compared to Daein’s cruelty?_

Out of the corner of her eye, Elincia saw another cat laguz with tanner skin pop into the lounge to speak to Ranulf. They exchanged a few growls and Ranulf sent them on their way.

“Good news,” Ranulf said to Elincia. “The King is ready to see you now. Are you sure you don’t want to wait until morning and rest first?”

Elincia shook her head. “I’ve come this far,” she said. “I can rest once I’ve had the chance to speak.”

“My, beorc stubbornness is almost as bad as laguz…very well. Come along, then.”

Ranulf led her up a second flight of stairs and across to the other side of the palace. Every loud step of her shoes against the stone-and-carpeted flooring reminded Elincia how much of an outsider she really was here—a beorc among laguz, princess without a kingdom, a noblewoman who looked like she’d come from the poorest farm town in the country.

Ranulf stepped aside once they reached a set of ornate wooden doors.

“He’s all yours,” Ranulf said. “I’ve got no pressing business with the king, so I’ll wait here for you.”

“Are you certain?”

“Of course! I bother the king _all_ the time; it’ll be nice for him to see a prettier face.”

Elincia giggled behind her hand. Ranulf sat down on a carved stone bench and waved at her to carry on. Steeling herself with a slow breath, Elincia opened the doors and stepped inside.

The audience chamber’s whole back wall was an open balcony that looked out onto Gallia’s woods and the watercolor sunset just beginning along the western edge. Potted plants were everywhere—even mulch-filled pots hung from the ceiling dripping with vines. Two trickling waterfalls spilled from somewhere above them over the sides of the balcony, mingling with two porcelain fountains that burbled on either side of a carved marble bench with a low back.

King Caineghis was a mountain of a man—easily half a foot taller than Elincia’s late father, broad as timber, with a shaggy sanguine beard that framed his weathered face. He truly looked lion-like from the mane-like sweep of his thick hair to the regal way he sat with his hands upon his knees. With the sun framed behind him Caineghis was a statue come to life.

Elincia dropped into a deep curtsy the moment the door shut behind her. She could hear the king’s soft footsteps approach and she tightened her fingertips on her skirts to keep them still.

“You may rise.”

Caineghis’s voice was the rumble of waterfalls into a gorge. When Elincia rose from her curtsy, Caineghis reached for her hand and brought it smoothly to his rough lips.

“Princess Elincia,” he said. “I am deeply sorry for the circumstances of our first meeting, but it is a pleasure to see you alive and well. Your father did much to strengthen the bonds between our nations.”

“King Caineghis of Gallia,” Elincia began, “I come here seeking your aid and refuge. As you know, my kingdom has been claimed by Daein in the flames of newfound war. My family is slaughtered, leaving me no other option but to seek foreign aid. I beseech you to grant me asylum until such a time as I can reclaim my throne… and…”

She trailed off at the sad look in Caineghis’s eyes. He held up a polite hand to stop her; his rounded furred ears were tilted down and his tufted tail drooped upon the stone floor.

“My child, we are both worn weary from travel,” he said patiently, “and no sound decision has ever been made from tired minds. You have permission to stay here for now, but I feel a political conversation of this nature would best be held in the company of your mercenary friends’ commander.”

Elincia gasped. “Master Greil! He’s here already?”

“These woods are long for beorc, fast for laguz, but simple strides for a lion like myself,” Caineghis said. “Your friend Ike is leading the company along the stoneward road with two of Ranulf’s finest as guides. They should be here within two or three more days if the weather abides.”

Elincia let out a sigh of relief. It had only been a few days, but she’d been surprised at how deeply she’d begun to miss her new friends already.

But something in the way Caineghis phrased his words made her pause.

“…You mentioned my lord Ike,” Elincia said delicately. “What of Master Greil? Surely he is with the company, too—he wouldn’t have returned to Crimea, would he?”

Caineghis’s face contorted. Elincia fell still. She’d seen that expression on her Imperial Guard, when she’d been bundled away to flee before the Daein king could find her. She knew intimately what it meant.

“He has fallen,” said the king. “I could not reach him in time. I thought that if I had hurried, I would meet you at the border and save you the trouble of an audience in Zarzi…but even as swift as my paws are, they cannot outpace death.”

Elincia lowered her head. A strand of emerald hair fell free from behind her ear. She left it dangling at her temple.

A warm weight clasped her upper back. Elincia looked up; Caineghis dipped his chin so deeply that his beard brushed the top of Elincia’s head.

“There is much loss to speak of in recent weeks,” he rumbled, “but let us not shroud tonight with such heaviness. Your plight exhausts you. Please, allow me to extend my hospitality to you with a warm meal, warm bath, and a warm bed. Giffca will report the moment your companions enter a five-mile radius of our doors.”

“Giffca?”

“My shadow.”

For a moment, Caineghis’s eyes flickered to a corner of the room Elincia hadn’t noticed—and the large black-haired man standing sentry there. He bore a thick mustache and beard that hid any quirk of the lips as well as any mask. He made no movement other than the shrewd dart of his eyes from Caineghis to Elincia and back again.

“Oh, my goodness, I apologize,” Elincia said, breaking away from Caineghis to drop a curtsy. “I did not see you!”

Caineghis grinnned. “Then he is performing his duty!” he laughed. “Do not pay him any mind. He is the eyes in the back of my head, so to speak.”

“I understand.”

“Now, I believe Ranulf has taken it upon himself to be your personal guide at the palace,” Caineghis continued, gesturing at the doors behind Elincia. “He will see to it that you have fitting quarters during your visit. Should you need any amenities, do not hesitate to ask for them.”

“Thank you, King Caineghis,” Elincia said, dropping into another low curtsy before letting herself be dismissed.

With the king’s leave, Elincia met Ranulf outside the doors and found him stretched out on top of the stone bench in cat form, purring on his back with all four paws in the air.

Elincia fought down the urge to rub his belly.

“Delegated, I assume?” Ranulf asked, cracking one eye open. “Don’t be shocked; our King is a lovely ruler, but he tends to take his time for matters of international politics… especially on an empty stomach.”

Elincia was about to respond, but her own stomach growled so suddenly that Ranulf’s ears perked up and he rolled over onto his side.

“Goodness, and that wasn’t even me!” he said. He laughed and leaped off the bench, shifting back to bipedal form in the blink of an eye. He winked at Elincia. “What say we get some food in us before we up and faint on the king’s doorstep, eh?”

Elincia tucked the loose strand of hair at her temple back behind her ear. She wanted to protest, but the news of Greil’s death was like a blow to her heart. It was all she could do not to sink to the ground. Ranulf beckoned her with his white-tipped tail.

“Here, I know what’ll make you smile,” he said. “Zchezan turkey! It’s a sweet-and-spicy preparation made with chilis we grow right here at the palace!”

“I’m not much for meat if I can help it,” Elincia admitted. She followed Ranulf, careful not to bump into any other laguz wandering the halls.

“No? Well then, we’ll have to find a different Gallian delicacy for you! Stuffed grape leaves, maybe? Honey rice?”

Elincia let Ranulf’s cheerful voice fill her ears and keep her steps from becoming lead. As much as she wanted to let her troubles slough off her shoulders for just one night, all she could think of was what to tell Ike when she next saw him face to face.


	26. Chapter 26

Elincia woke to the sound of birds and thought for a moment she was home again.

Then her vision cleared, realized the bedsheets were not her own, and she remembered.

Gallia. Zarzi. Caineghis. Greil.

It had been a little over two weeks since Daein’s invasion and already so much had changed. Elincia put her head in her hands and buried herself deeper in the soft guest bed, as if shutting out the morning could rewind time and she’d wake in her home with Lucia and Geoffrey on the porch ready to go riding.

 _But that’s childish,_ she thought. _I need to be strong. I can’t let a soft bed and new clothes placate me, not until I see the reclamation of Crimea through. I cannot let Ashnard win!_

Elincia plaited her hair as neatly as she could manage and threw on the teal-and-tan dress the king’s attendants had given her. It wasn’t as full in the skirt as her old orange one and had much plainer embroidery on the sleeves, but it was finely tailored and not literally falling apart along the hem.

 _Maybe I’ll cut the old thing into rags,_ she thought as she finished getting ready. _Wash them out and give them to my lord Rhys to use for medicine. I certainly don’t feel frivolous enough to buy trinkets anymore…_

Ranulf was waiting for her just outside her room, untransformed and politely sitting on a plush chair. He hopped to his feet and gave her a cursory bow before offering her his arm. Elincia graciously took it.

“The King assigned me as your temporary bodyguard,” Ranulf said as he started to lead her down the hall and around a corner. He snuck a sly look at her with his mismatched eyes and winked. “Or, rather, I volunteered—wouldn’t want you getting the wrong impression of our fair culture just because some hungover fool was the one who took you around the grounds.”

“My lor—Ranulf, you are quite the charmer,” Elincia said.

“That’s what they say,” Ranulf replied. “Mind the step here; the carpet runner is being replaced so there’s nothing but stone underneath this part.”

Elincia picked her way carefully over a space of polished marble and fell back in alongside Ranulf for his tour.

Zarzi’s palace was a spread of pavilions and all manner of open-air construction layered together like stacked coasters. Most rooms around the exterior had large windows, and nearly every hallway had some opening that led to an external balcony. Potted plants with wide fronds and beautiful flowers marked every corner and, with Ranulf’s permission, Elincia plucked a few and braided together a garland to drape around Ranulf’s cat ears.

Elincia let Ranulf’s easygoing voice draw her into Gallia’s history and all its charm as they toured the palace top to bottom. Ranulf was a gracious tour guide—whenever Elincia slowed down to admire a wall-hanging or look out at the landscape, he would stop for as long as she liked with no indication of annoyance on his face. If anything, he seemed pleased to talk about his culture.

 _No wonder Father wanted to make allies with these people,_ Elincia thought, smiling at every laguz she passed. _Who wouldn’t fall in love with such a beautiful place? And with such talented people, too!_

When they rounded the southern wall, Elincia stopped to admire the view again and peered down at a curious enclosed space behind the palace. The dirt-covered yard was surrounded by high stone walls and lined with stuffed dummies of all manner of shapes and sizes. As Elincia watched, laguz transformed into cats and tigers and launched themselves at the dummies—or, to her shock, at one another with yowls and growls that sounded for all the world like a blood feud gone too far.

“What are they doing?” she asked.

“Battle training,” Ranulf replied, standing next to her. “Laguz pride themselves on their fighting prowess, and beasts are possibly the proudest race of all. Let loose in the thick of a fight and a beast won’t stop until every last enemy is struck down. It would be commendable if it wasn’t so damned stupid half the time.”

One of the combatants below them roared sharply, and Elincia yelped. Ranulf gently coaxed her back to the ledge with his tail.

“Don’t mind him,” Ranulf said, singling out a red-orange lion among the transformed laguz. “He’s just in a mood because no one is willing to actually draw blood on him, so he thinks it’s all a waste of time.”

The lion was _huge_ —even from so far up, Elincia knew the beast’s forehead would reach the brow of any warmblood warhorse. His pelt shone with health and was an aggressive shade of vermillion with a thick dorsal crest and long curly mane.

“Who _is_ he?” Elincia asked.

Ranulf sighed and flopped his arms over the ledge, letting his hands dangle while his ears drooped. “ _That_ , dear princess, is the king’s nephew, Skrimir,” he said. “He’s next in line for the throne when Caineghis inevitably resigns. Though, between you and me, I hope that isn’t soon… the guy needs at least a few more _years’_ worth of patience drilled into him before I’d be comfortable with him on the throne.”

“You sound like you don’t like him.”

“Don’t like him? No, he’s a perfectly affable lion, but he’s, well, let’s say ‘rough around the edges’. Observe.”

Ranulf plucked a small rock from the balcony ledge and chucked it over the side. It smacked Skrimir on the flank.

“Who dares attack in such a cowardly manner?” Skrimir roared, whirling around with a sweep of his curly mane. He launched himself at the nearest laguz—a poor tiger with a gray-green pelt—and rolled with them over and over until both of their coats were covered with dust.

Ranulf sighed again and stood back up. “Come on, there’s better parts of the palace to see.”

Elincia cast one last look at the scuffling cats and then followed Ranulf, letting him take her all around the elegant Gallian palace.

Two days later, she was having afternoon tea with Caineghis when the news arrived. Giffca appeared like a phantom at Caineghis’s side and whispered in his ear, his mustache and beard masking any lip-reading, and withdrew before Elincia had time to say hello. Caineghis finished the tea in his cup and set it down so he could pour more from a clay pot.

“My dear, your companions have just crossed the Kylian River,” he said. “That waterway marks the five-mile radius around Zarzi and is a landmark for any who approach from the north.”

“They’re that close?” Elincia said. “Oh, that’s wonderful! How long until they arrive?”

“By Giffca’s estimate, about three hours. Plenty of time to finish tea. When they reach the city we shall receive them in the auxiliary audience chamber.”

Three hours later the palace was bathed with golden late afternoon sunlight. Caineghis brought Elincia back to the audience chamber with its open back balcony and myriad of plants. At first glance, Elincia couldn’t see Giffca, but he was there, hiding in plain sight beside a towering potted aloe.

Elincia smiled at him. Giffca was motionless, but Elincia thought she saw the corner of his thick mustache twitch up.

After what felt like an eternity—but was really only ten minutes—Elincia heard sounds from outside the double doors. Her heart fluttered in her chest.

The doors swung open. In came Ike, sword at his hip and red cloak upon his shoulders, trailed by Soren and Titania. All three were marred with dirt and scratches and looked in sore need of a long bath. But for all their travel-worn appearances, Elincia wanted to race to their side and hug each of them until their backs broke. Not wanting to break composure, she settled on a bright smile instead.

“My lord Ike!” she greeted. “And Titania, Soren—oh, how good it is to see you!”

Ike lifted a hand in greeting to her before he and his companions respectfully bowed to the king. Caineghis gestured loosely with one hand.

“Be at ease,” he said. He leaned back against the low back of the bench, fingers curled over the carved armrests.

Ike shuffled from foot to foot awkwardly. His shoulder brushed against the leafy frond of one of the potted plants.

“Uh…hey there,” he said.

Soren openly cringed. Titania’s hand twitched as if it wanted to cover her face.

Caineghis chuckled. “Hello yourself. I suppose _some_ formality is in order—I welcome you to Gallia Palace. I am Caineghis, King of Gallia.”

“I am Ike of the Greil Mercenaries. This is my deputy commander Titania and my tactician Soren.”

“And the rest of your company?”

“I sent them to one of your lower halls with Lethe and Mordecai,” Ike said. “I thought it best not to bring an entire group of armed mercenaries into a throne room.”

“Prudent. Your father was right in naming you his successor.”

Ike winced. Elincia felt the pang of emptiness as acutely as if she’d lost her own father all over again.

Ike looked about to speak again, but Caineghis held a broad hand up to still him.

“You are weary from your travels,” Caineghis said, the same way he’d spoken to Elincia a few days’ prior. “If it’s all the same to you, please accept our hospitality and allow yourselves a day’s rest. We have warm food and an ample supply of hot water and linens.”

“We appreciate it,” Ike said, “and I mean no disrespect, but like you said, we traveled a long way to be here. I’d rather we cut to business as soon as possible so we know where Elincia stands with reclaiming her throne.”

Caineghis chuckled. He winked at Elincia.

“You and the Princess are more alike than you think,” Caineghis said genially. “Very well—a compromise, then. Take a rest in our guest wing. I will send for you in three hours to join me in the Mosaic Room for dinner, where we may eat and discuss matters of state in a more comfortable manner. I wouldn’t want you passing out from exhaustion in the middle of a foreign affairs meeting, after all.”

Ike smiled so briefly that Elincia thought it was a trick of the light—and then that strangely stoic expression was back, the mask of someone trying to fit into a too-big uniform.

“I appreciate it,” Ike said. “In that case, please make sure to have enough seating for myself _and_ Titania and Soren.”

“Us? Really?” Soren whispered.

“Of course,” Ike replied softly.

“Consider it done,” Caineghis said. “My shadow Giffca will also join us. Pay him no more attention than you would the air.”

Ike nodded. Elincia caught him glance at Giffca in the corner, as if he’d known the lion-man was there from the beginning, but neither made any other indication besides that.

With formalities and business arranged, Caineghis dismissed them, and Soren nearly tripped in his haste to get out of the audience chamber. Titania had to hold the door open for him and he ducked under her arm and out of sight. Caineghis also stood—to stretch, mostly—and Elincia knew this was the only moment she’d get before dinner.

She rushed to meet Ike before he could leave. She caught him by the elbow just as he opened the door.

“My lord Ike,” she said softly, “I… I have no way to phrase this without repeating trite phrases, but I am deeply sorry about your father’s death. Master Greil was a wonderful man and carried compassion as steadily as he carried his weaponry. I am truly honored to have known him and his kindness.”

Ike nodded. He slipped his arm out of her hand like it was a loose vine.

“Thank you, princess,” he said. The words were hollow. He stared at the scuffed toe of his boots.

“If I may,” Elincia continued, “I find solace in the words of Arya’s _Tenure of the Rose_ when sorrow finds me. The first day after my own father’s death I returned to this stanza many times while our carriage hurried from Melior. ‘There cannot be a remedy for death but life, for in thy heart lies the making of a glorious peace—’”

“Princess…”

“‘—the will to live and vivacity unbounded. The dead do not mourn for thee unless thou chooses grief over thy sympathy—’”

“Princess—Elincia, stop, please.”

Elincia’s voice died. Ike’s hands were bunched around the frayed hem of his shirt, and his mouth was set in a grim line. He looked ready to either draw his sword or collapse to his knees.

“Flowery words don’t save lives,” he said. He looked at her then, and there was so much pain hiding in those blue eyes that Elincia was speechless. “It wastes energy. I appreciate your condolences, but prose is only a shield against your heart, not against a weapon.”

“My lord Ike…” Elincia said.

Ike gave her a curt nod and turned away. By the time Elincia registered the movement the only trace of Ike was the sweep of his red cloak as the chamber doors closed behind him.

***

Titania followed one of the laguz attendants to the guest wing of the palace, mindful wherever stretches of carpet runner were missing or being carefully replaced. Her boots clinked against the bare stone and she grimaced when she realized she was leaving dirty tracks in her wake.

She distracted herself as she crossed a wide open-sided hall with the view of Gallia’s forests and the stiff gray peaks of the Ertz Mountains to the west. Spring was in its prime across Tellius, but especially in a land so rich with rainfall. The verdant landscape rustled with every breath of wind like the ocean.

 _It hasn’t changed much,_ Titania thought. _If anything, the trees are even taller than the last time I was here. Of course, the last time I was here…_

_Was with Greil._

“Ma’am?” said her cat-eared escort. “If you’ll follow me to your room, please.”

“Of course,” Titania said distractedly. “I was merely appreciating the scenery.”

The cat laguz bowed her head and set off again down the walkway. Titania kept a respectful distance between them. She gave the laguz all the proper courtesy—partly to make up for Soren—and was even more grateful to find a bath already drawn for her and a plate of dried fruits on the nightstand of her guest room.

With her hair washed and combed and with a set of fresh clothes on Titania finally felt like more of a person than she had the last few days. A cat laguz who looked an awful lot like Lethe but with a long side braid in her hair even stopped by and gave Titania a belted tunic in a brilliant shade of Gallian green that made her red hair stand out like a flame against her back.

Titania met Ike and Soren a few hours later when twilight’s easy purple-and-gray light permeated the palace and was pleased to see the two of them had cleaned up a bit. Ike still wore that strip of green cloth under his bangs, but he’d at least put on a shirt that _wasn’t_ torn or bloodstained, and though orange wasn’t his color he managed to look put-together. Soren had opted for the darkest colors he could find—a long, deep navy tunic edged with bronze over black leggings.

Titania smiled approvingly at both of them.

Soren scowled at her. Titania’s smile strained at the edges.

“Please, follow me,” said the tiger laguz tasked with bringing them to dinner. He took them up to the third floor of the palace and through two short passageways to a remote corner of the palace lit by glass wall sconces. Their escort knocked politely on the doors and then left them to enter on their own.

Titania reached for the handle intending to hold it open for Ike, but Ike waved her and Soren back a few feet from the door. By now the tiger was well out of earshot. Ike took a deep breath.

“Commander?” Titania asked. Soren quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Before we go in,” Ike said, “you two need to sort out whatever _this_ is.”

He gestured vaguely at the space between Titania and Soren. Before either of them could interject, Ike went on:

“I don’t know if this is just from travel or stress or Father’s…death…or _me_ , frankly, but you two have barely spoken a word to each other since we left Gebal Castle and it _has_ to stop. Everyone in the company’s noticed you two skirting around each other like territorial dogs. Soren, be nicer to folks, the laguz especially. Titania, don’t let your temper goad you into yelling matches. I can’t have my two friends, let alone my deputy commander and company tactician, at each other’s throats all the time.”

Ike broke off for a moment, struggling with what to say.

“…I need your strength,” he murmured. “And I can’t have that if you’re bickering with each other. The King of Gallia is in there—” he pointed at the door—“and I have literally no idea what to say or how to ask for it. So, please, settle whatever’s between you.”

Titania turned to face Soren fully. The boy had a few red scratches on his cheek from when a pricker bush got the better of him yesterday; Titania knew her own face had its fair share of marks from low-hanging branches along the ride. But Ike was right—the company depended on the harmony of its moving parts.

Even if Greil’s death was still too fresh. Even if they never truly recovered.

Soren dipped his head in what Titania accepted as a rudimentary apology. She sighed deeply through her nose and extended her hand; Soren took it after a brief flicker of irritation. Their handshake was only short enough to get the point across.

“Even?” Titania asked.

“Even,” Soren replied.

Ike rubbed the heel of his hand against his left eye, but he looked visibly more relaxed.

“Thank you,” he said through an easy sigh. “Now, what do you say we go have dinner with a king? That’s about the most sensible thing we’ve done all week, right?”

“More sensible than most of our hare-brained exploits,” Soren admitted.

Titania chuckled. Soren rolled his red eyes good-naturedly.

Ike shook his head with a ghost of a smirk and led the way through to a room filled with the smells of rich food and spice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> skipped map 9 bc it's boring lol. the 'fun' part of adapting a game is cutting out stuff that is obviously game language or set up to introduce a mechanic. (dont worry abt that mist/rolf recruit convo in that map though it's coming later!)
> 
> also put a cameo of skrimir and lyre in bc why not... if i ever finish this and write radiant dawn skrimir is gonna be a hoot to work with
> 
> i havent had the mental energy to reply to comments lately but i read them! and i appreciate them! so thank you


	27. Chapter 27

The Mosaic Room was as apt a description as Ike would have thought. The entire ceiling was an elaborate circular mosaic made from pieces of enamel-coated ceramic and stained glass. Scenes of Gallia’s forests and its feline inhabitants circled the outer edges, and in the center was a large white lion roaring down at the room with its golden mane radiating like the sun. Glass wall sconces made the pieces ripple like a moving painting and flash small circles of blue, green, and gold around the room.

The room was small, only thirty feet across, and cluttered with thick cushions sewn from panels of dyed leather and cloth. Two wide windows, one south and one east, let in the humid twilight breeze.

Caineghis and Elincia were already inside, the former lounging on a cushioned marble chaise and the latter under the east window with her legs folded over a padded ottoman. Elincia’s face lit up when she saw Ike and she waved.

“Ah, welcome,” said Caineghis. He’d dressed in dark colors, but wore a wide sash across his chest emblazoned with brightly colored embroidery whose triangular pattern was mimicked along the hem and sleeves of his shirt and wide-legged pants. “Be at ease; sit wherever you like. I’ll have food and drink brought in at once.”

Soren took a spot in the corner nearest to the door. Ike came over and sat next to him.

“Elincia, it is wonderful to see you again,” Titania said, sitting by the princess so she wouldn’t be alone. “Your dress complements your hair beautifully.”

“You think so?” Elincia said. “Ranulf picked it out; he said this shade of teal is a symbol of friendship and camaraderie among ancient Gallian customs.”

“Ranulf! I thought I saw him earlier, how is he?”

“Just delightful, truly! Now, I must know—tell me all about your travels, your new companions…”

The two women devolved into small-talk, and Caineghis was murmuring orders to a few bipedal laguz taking notes at his side. Ike breathed a sigh of relief. As long as everyone _else_ was talking, that meant he didn’t have to, and it gave him a welcome bit of respite.

 _At least Titania and Soren aren’t fighting anymore,_ he thought, sneaking a glance at Soren. His friend was still tense—tight shoulders, nervous picking at the long sleeves of his new tunic—but he’d curled up in the corner nest of cushions like a cat and seemed content to observe from there.

Ike didn’t realize how hungry he was until attendants came around with food. Laguz with matching Gallian green sashes across their chests circulated the room with trays of finger foods—grape leaves wrapped around parcels of rice; turkey crusted with black pepper; flaky pastries filled with chili meat; even striped peppers stuffed with cheese that made Ike’s mouth burn from the spiciness of it. He tried everything that passed his field of view and only disliked a honey sweet that made his fingers stick together until he licked it off. Soren, as usual, picked and nibbled and never committed, but at least he passed Ike anything he didn’t finish.

When they’d eaten their fill, Caineghis had stone cups filled with burgundy wine given to each of them to toast to their health. Titania had downed hers as quickly as Caineghis, Elincia sipped demurely, but Ike brought his cup to his lips and sniffed cautiously at it. The old mercenary fort had an ample stock of ales and a stash of hard, darker liquor that his father preferred on long nights, but never any wine. It smelled like crushed sour berries and old leaves. Ike’s nose crinkled.

“I don’t like it, either, but it’s obligatory,” Soren whispered. He then took a tiny sip and made a face like he’d eaten a lemon. Ike would have laughed were he not so tired.

He gave the wine in his cup another skeptical glance. It certainly wasn’t going anywhere, and it would be rude to refuse.

 _When in Gallia,_ he thought as he tipped the cup back.

He almost spit it right back out. The wine was bitter on his tongue and swallowing it was like downing one of Rhys’s cold remedies.

Caineghis’s booming laughter nearly made Ike spill the rest of the wine over his lap. The Gallian king grinned broadly at him with too-sharp canine teeth.

“Not your spirit of choice?” he asked.

“I’m not much for drinking,” Ike admitted.

Caineghis laughed again and waved away an invisible gnat. “Do not feel pushed to finish it,” he said. “Wine does not go to waste here.”

“Oh, thank the Goddess,” Soren muttered, immediately setting his cup on a side table. Ike handed him his own cup to pass along.

“I’ll take it!” Titania said. Soren passed the cups to Ike, who passed them to Titania, who now had a small cluster of stone cups on the little side table between her and Elincia. Caineghis chuckled.

“Hah! What did I tell you?” he said. “Wine does not go to waste!”

“Cheers,” Titania said, clinking her cup with Elincia’s.

Caineghis turned to give Ike an appraising smile. Ike tried not to squirm.

“I must say, Ike, you’ve certainly grown,” said the king. “I hardly recognized you.”

Ike furrowed his brow, puzzled. “Recognized me?”

“The last time you were here, Ike, you were a small child,” Titania said, smiling fondly at him. Her cheeks had gone rosy, and she had a faint tint of berry red along her top lip. She swirled the wine cup in her hand and added, “Barely four or five, if memory serves. Greil and Elena asked me to come along and babysit you and Mist when Caineghis invited them here.”

“…I don’t remember any of this,” Ike said.

Not knowing something about himself that others knew made him deeply uneasy. Trying to place any of this—Gallia, Zarzi, even the king’s heavy sideburns—was like trying to remember his mother’s face; it was all through a thick mental fog that made Ike frustrated the longer he tried to think through it.

He scratched at his chest.

 _I must have hit my head or something when I was a kid,_ he thought. _Come to think of it, Mist might remember…but she never mentioned knowing Gallia either, not in the whole time we were traveling here…_

Caineghis stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles, leaning back against the chaise. He cast an apologetic look at Elincia.

“Princess Elincia,” he said, “I promise to circle back to your situation, but while the conversation is relevant I would like to speak with Ike about his late father. Is that acceptable?”

“By all means,” Elincia said quietly.

Caineghis steepled his fingers over his broad chest. He turned his head to Titania.

“How much did Greil tell his son?” he asked her.

“Not much,” Titania said with a sigh under her voice. “Ike was raised with no knowledge of Gallia aside from its existence as a country in Tellius. He knew nothing about laguz or Crimea’s relations with Gallia.”

“Then why didn’t my father tell me?” Ike asked. “He—he had plenty of opportunity, we were camping together for a week on our way to Gallia!”

“While fleeing for our _lives_ ,” Soren said. “Not the best time for heart-to-heart conversations if you ask me.”

Ike snorted. He forced himself to stay seated, even though his heart was beating out of sync with how fast his mind wanted to connect scraps of forgotten information. He gripped the sewn ridge between two panels of the cushion underneath him just to keep himself grounded.

“I am sure your father meant you no harm,” Caineghis said, “and I will tell you all I know, although it is not much.”

“Please,” Ike said.

Caineghis took a long drink of wine and licked his lips before continuing. Giffca silently refilled his cup from a clay pitcher.

“Let me see…your father, Greil, came to Gallia about twenty years ago and settled with his wife in a small village to the north of Zarzi. He worked as a mercenary for local laguz and the few beorc who had been granted land and settlements. He and I got along quite well. To speak truly, I still do not trust beorc—”

Soren rolled his eyes. Ike nudged him in the shin.

“—but your father was different. He had an honorable soul and cared deeply for his family. He was the type of person one could place their trust in unconditionally and never be betrayed.” Caineghis gestured to Elincia with his wine cup. “Your late father, King Ramon, was a beorc of that class as well, Princess. And you, Titania! Among beorc warriors you are truly exceptional.”

“You flatter me, Your Majesty,” Titania said. She’d stacked two of her stone cups and was sipping slowly at the third.

“I speak the truth. Now, word of Greil’s exploits eventually reached my ears, and I found news of his deeds a welcome bit of current events in an otherwise tedious daily report. Two especially auspicious bits of good news were when you and your sister were born.”

He gestured at Ike with his wine cup. Ike couldn’t speak for a moment.

“Mist and I were born in Gallia?” he eventually asked.

“In Nylia, just northeast of here. You only stayed a short time, but your early childhood was spent in these forests.”

“…Why don’t I remember this?” Ike asked, more to himself than to anyone at large.

“That, I cannot say,” Caineghis said. “Some are simply born with stronger memories than others. But Greil may have had a good reason for not telling you more than what was necessary.”

“And why’s that?”

“I feel that your parents were carrying a dark secret. Something was hunting them.”

The hairs on the back of Ike’s neck stood up. His fingers tensed against the leather cushion.

_That knight. The Black Knight with that silver greatsword. He wanted something from Father, something Father wouldn’t give him—_

“About ten years ago, after your mother died, your father decided to leave Gallia,” Caineghis continued. “I went to him and asked if there was anything in my power I could do to help, any way I could ease his burdens…but I could not loosen his tongue. And when I learned of Daein’s conquest and that Greil himself was racing to Gallia with Ramon’s only child, well, I thought perhaps I would have a chance to speak with him. But I was too late. Even a lion as strong and swift as myself could not cross that distance in less than two days—and I was winded even as I heard the sounds of swordfight.”

_Swordfight. A silver sword too big to move so effortlessly, slick grass and blood and rain and thunder so close it sounded as if it came from the woods themselves—_

“You were there,” Ike said. “The night of the rainstorm.”

Caineghis nodded, his brow creased with solemnity. “I reached Gebal Castle after the final blow was dealt. I barely saw Greil’s murderer vanish in a burst of warp magic. I could do nothing—no village within running distance would have been able to save him—so I thought it best not to interfere with his final moments.”

“Well, why didn’t you meet with us in the morning?” Ike asked heatedly. “If you were right there, you could have spoken with us outside Gebal Castle!”

“Certainly would have saved us the walk,” Soren said under his breath.

“It would not have followed procedure,” Caineghis said. One of his rounded ears had swiveled at Soren’s comment, but he ignored it. “A king of his country must receive foreign enquiries and alliance negotiations upon proper grounds. Knowing Elincia was here to petition for some sort of asylum—and knowing Ranulf and his patrol were on their way to Zarzi—I could not hold two separate councils.”

Ike made an annoyed grumble in his throat. _Nobility is just a nest of idiotic policy,_ he thought.

Soren passed him a cup of water; Ike took it and tried to let clarity set in.

“Did Greil tell you anything before he passed?” Caineghis asked.

“He…he said to take Mist and the company and stay in Gallia,” Ike said slowly. “But I—I can’t, not knowing my father’s murderer is out there working with bad people. Once our business with Elincia is done I’m going to train until I can beat him. I can’t speak for anyone else. But I can’t give up.”

“Very well,” Caineghis said. He downed the rest of his wine and set it aside for Giffca to refill. “Princess Elincia, I thank you for your unending patience—now we may discuss matters of state.”

Elincia sat up a little straighter, though she had moved a bit closer to Titania now that the evening breeze was getting to be a bit much beside the window.

“Thank you, King Caineghis,” she said. She took a deep breath. “I, Princess Elincia Ridell Crimea, formally ask for political asylum in Gallia while I petition to reclaim my throne from King Ashnard of Daein.”

Caineghis bowed his head. “I, King Caineghis of Gallia, receive your petition and have this to say. As you know, our countries’ relations exist primarily among nobility and are not truly received by our citizenry. I receive petitioners daily who complain about beorc, and, now that I hear reports of Daein soldiers stationed at every border crossing along the Silva River, those anti-beorc sentiments are bound to escalate further.”

Ike couldn’t help it—as soon as they started talking politics, it was like trying to listen to bees droning. He sank back against the cushions, feeling latent lethargy start to drag at his muscles. Lethe and Mordecai had pushed them hard over the five days it took to get from Gebal Castle to Zarzi, and they’d only arrived at the palace in the late afternoon just today. A few hours in a guest room couldn’t ease days’ worth of knotted muscles and weary legs.

Ike shivered. The breeze _was_ getting too chilly, especially with his back to one of the windows.

 _Soren has the right idea,_ he thought, and, moving slowly so as not to distract Caineghis and Elincia with their negotiations, Ike shifted around a pile of cushions so he could curl up in a similar position with his knees folded to one side.

“…So you are saying you cannot help,” Elincia said.

 _That_ made Ike perk up. But before he could get a word in, Caineghis caught his expression and held up a hand to still him.

“I am saying _I_ cannot help on the basis of the Gallian throne,” Caineghis said. He smiled slyly at Ike, who by now was a mess of limbs half on and half off a pile of floor cushions. “But I believe I have a solution. Ike, as commander of the Greil Mercenaries, would you be willing to lend your support to Elincia?”

“Wh—of course,” Ike said. “That’s what my father aimed to do, and it’s what I want, too.”

Soren shifted uncomfortably on Ike’s other side, but Elincia looked as if she’d just received a Midwinter present far too grand to ask for.

“Your Majesty—!” she began.

“In my heart of hearts, I want nothing more than to take guardianship of Elincia and help her reclaim her throne,” Caineghis said. “But current politics forbid me. You may, however, find favor with the Begnion Theocracy. Crimea is their former vassal state. If you make a formal request for aid as you did with me, you may gain their shields and their far greater forces to aid you.”

“And you think they’d offer her help?” Soren said. “Begnion is filled with egomaniacs more concerned with their devotion to Ashera than the plight of their subjects.”

“Soren!” Titania chided.

“I’m merely stating facts!”

“You’ve never _been_ to Begnion. It could be a very pleasant country for all you know.”

“Books tell me otherwise,” Soren mumbled, only loud enough for Ike to hear. Ike stifled a little laugh.

“That would be wonderful, truly,” Elincia said, leaning forward so her hair spilled over her shoulders. “How long would it take to reach Begnion?”

Caineghis pulled on the ends of his beard. “The Ertz Mountains block us from their borders,” he said, “and sadly there are no beorc-friendly mountain passes. Allowing passage from Gallia into Begnion would be equal to taking a formal stance in the eyes of the world. You would have to return to Crimea to find sea passage to Begnion.”

Titania cursed under her breath.

“The countryside will be littered with Daeins,” she said, “I’m sure of it. Especially the closer we are to the border—no doubt King Ashnard knows the Princess is still in Gallia and wants to make sure she’s caught the moment she sets foot back on Crimean soil. She’ll need an escort…”

The pieces clicked together for almost everyone in the room. Caineghis smiled satisfactorily.

“She’ll need an _escort_ …” Ike started.

“…And who better to ask than the brave souls who have helped carry me this far already?” Elincia finished. She made to clap her hands together and forgot she was holding a wine cup, though it was thankfully too low to spill. “Oh, Your Majesty, what a wonderful idea!”

“I think so, too,” Caineghis said. “Assuming, of course, that Ike accepts the offer.”

“Do you need a formal contract?” Elincia asked, turning her full bright-eyed attention to Ike. “I’ll have one drawn up immediately! Or, rather, in the morning when there is better lighting?”

“No, none of that,” Ike said, waving away the suggestion. “You’re trustworthy. If you’re asking us to take the job…”

He glanced at Titania, who’d stacked all her empty wine cups and looked ready to fall asleep—but she smiled at Ike and gave him a little wink of encouragement. On Ike’s other side, Soren nodded imperceptibly.

“…Then, as commander of the Greil Mercenaries, I accept. We would be honored to escort you to Begnion, Princess Elincia.”

“Oh, _wonderful!_ ”

Caineghis stood slowly, raising his wine cup one last time in a toast. His tufted tail trailed along the chaise behind him.

“It warms my heart to see such matters settled,” he said, “but the hour grows late—and you all are collapsing upon the cushions, I see. I’m pleased I had our meeting in the Mosaic Room and not the Council Chamber, hah! You cannot fall asleep on such stiff-backed chairs, I assure you.”

Ike’s spine ached at the thought of it. Caineghis summoned laguz attendants to take everyone back to their respective rooms with the promise of an elaborate breakfast and a chance to prepare for the trek back north. Ike lingered, stopped in his own tracks by a yawn so deep he wavered on his feet. He hadn’t had any wine aside from that unsatisfactory first sip, yet his mind dragged, pulled in too many directions by too many ropes that tightened the longer he thought about them.

 _Mist and I were born here,_ he thought. _Father never told us. Titania knew him back then—knew_ me _back then—and she didn’t say a word until now. The Black Knight is out there. Caineghis saw him. Elincia’s escorts. When are we ever going back home?_

Ike felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and let Caineghis turn him around in the doorway. The Gallian king was outlined by firelight from the wall sconces and the sparkling mosaic ceiling.

“I understand this must be difficult for you,” Caineghis said in a low rumbling voice. “And I hate to ask this so directly, knowing that you suffer so, but…your father, did he tell you anything of his killer? Any identity, any piece of information to track them?”

Ike shook his head. “No—nothing. But I saw him earlier that day. He’s tall as Father is—was—and covered head to toe in black armor trimmed with silver. His voice was warped by his helmet, but I think he was a baritone. Father only called him the ‘Black Knight’.”

Caineghis bowed his head in thanks. “Death weighs heavy on the heart,” he said, “especially the death of a loved one. If I find any leads on this fellow, I will find a way to contact you.”

“Thank you.”

“You have your father’s eyes, you know—honest and brave. I see his reflection in you.”

“I…thank you?” Ike said.

Caineghis clapped him on the back. “But I also see weariness! Go and rest, young beorc warrior. I insist you spend the next day in Zarzi and take the time for you and your companions to recover your strength. I must organize a parting feast, after all!”

“That sounds… great,” Ike said around a yawn.

Caineghis bid him goodnight, ushering him into the company of a tiger laguz who led Ike back to his personal guest room. Ike nearly fell onto the bed the moment he shut and locked the door, but he scratched at his left shoulder and hissed in pain when his fingernails caught on the dressing underneath.

 _Oh, right,_ he thought. _I forgot to change it before dinner._

A half-height mirror hung on the washroom wall. With light from a candle in a glass sconce, Ike set out a clean roll of gauze and the poultice Rhys made him. Ike pulled his shirt up and gripped it in his teeth to change the dressings on his chest. It was work he preferred to do alone, where no one else could see the damage, but it didn’t make it any easier. His fingers fumbled with the old gauze and he bit down on his bundled shirt whenever he felt a sting. Normally he had no reflection to work off of, and it was the simple mistake of trying to use a mirror that made Ike look up.

An angry white-and-red line crossed from his right hip up to his left shoulder. 

It was one thing seeing a wound from his own perspective. It hurt a whole new way seeing just how bad it looked from the outside. Thanks to Rhys, it wasn’t infected, and most of the deeper tissue had knit back from that first bout of light magic, but it still _ached_. It would scar, Ike had no doubt about that, and until then it would needle at him like a permanent reminder of his mistakes.

Ike applied the new dressings with an almost feverish pace and yanked his shirt back down.

When he made it to the too-nice guest bed, instead of taking the woven blankets laid out by the palace staff Ike curled up with his red cloak close to his chest, hugging that piece of familiarity until sleep finally dragged him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so long caineghis just talks FOREVER in the script
> 
> writing this fic is one of the only things keeping me sane rn w/the state of the World lol! thanks for reading pls take care of yourselves and each other


	28. Chapter 28

The trek back to Crimea took over a week. Ranulf had agreed to take them to Toha, a port city on the westernmost edge of Crimea, and so far his levity was one of the only things keeping the company from falling into a damp gloom. Now that they’d passed the mark of midspring, Gallia’s humidity had burst in wave after wave of sunshower and storm, causing mudslides and flooding streams that forced the Greil Mercenaries to alter their course and backtrack too many times for Ike to count. Lethe only got more irritable by the day. Mordecai, at least, took the weather in stride and would often return from his scouting trips with berries knocked loose from the rain.

Half a day from the Crimean border, Ike halted the company under a copse of pine trees, huddling under the bristly trunks to wait out the midday bout of rain and check their bearings. He held his cloak up with one arm over Soren’s head to keep the water off the map Soren was reading.

“…Too likely to be ambushed, have to take an alternate route,” Soren was mumbling. “Assuming no one is monitoring that crossing…”

Ike’s eyes roamed over the map, following the inky rivers and hatch-marked forests. Every town and village was marked with a small diamond—places of importance had a second outline—and accompanied by script that hooked at the end of each letter. Ike lingered on a small label just northeast of Zarzi.

“I still wish we could have stopped in Nylia,” he said quietly. “Even for a few minutes just to see it.”

He couldn’t see Soren’s face clearly, but the other boy’s thumb tightened on the map in his hands.

“I know,” Soren replied, “but we’d’ve lost two days’ time and been worse off when the rain hit. Nylia is further east than any of the routes to the border. Besides, it…might not have been a good idea to visit, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“That village was destroyed ten years ago,” said Lethe strolling by, digging at a plum with a pocketknife. “Nylia, right? Humans ruined it. They slaughtered everyone in that village until the streets ran red with blood. Now it’s only a ghost town. Laguz won’t go near that place.”

Soren shook out the map, pretending not to hear her, but Ike was trying desperately to place that information anywhere in his memory. Even knowing its current fate did nothing to parse the mental fog of his early childhood.

_Ten years ago…that must be why Father left,_ he thought. _To protect us. Whoever destroyed the village we lived in must have been terrifyingly strong._

He’d talked to Mist their last day in Zarzi, hoping to glean a bit of understanding of their shared circumstance, but she was just as clueless about Gallia as he was.

Even Titania hadn’t been much help. The night after they left the capital, Ike had struck up conversation while they were both sharpening weapons on the edge of camp, and while Titania had told him what she knew, it still left Ike with an emptiness in his chest.

“Let me see…I was in Gallia as part of an exchange program,” Titania had said. “It had to have been almost fifteen years ago by now.”

“When you were still a Royal Knight?” Ike had asked.

“Mm. I remember begging Commander Greil to train me—he relented _eventually_ —and after a few weeks he brought me to Nylia for the first of many times to visit his family.”

“Then do you know what happened?”

Titania shook her head. The axe head in her hands had reflected her own sadness back at her so acutely that Ike had to look away.

“While it’s true I got to see you and Mist as babes,” she’d said, “my program term ended eleven years ago. I left Gallia accordingly. By the time I resigned from the Royal Knights, Greil was already back in Crimea, and he never spoke of what happened. Maybe he planned on telling you and Mist himself once we reached the palace in Zarzi. It would have been as apt a time as any.”

“It would,” Ike said. “But then he was murdered. And now we’ll never know.”

Ike’s hand slipped, and he’d nicked his thumb on the blade he was tending. He’d been so proud when Greil had let him take that sword, missing garnets and tarnished filigree and all, but now it only served as a reminder of Ike’s own weakness. If a blade couldn’t stop a killer—couldn’t even dent his damn armor—in the hour of need, then what good was it?

Ike readjusted his arm so it didn’t fall asleep, but it seemed that Soren was done looking over the map. As soon as he folded it away into the bell sleeves of his robes, Ike let his arm drop, and his rain-soaked cloak fell back against his legs.

Lethe rolled her eyes at him. She speared the plum pit on the tip of her pocketknife and chucked it into the bushes. When she bit into the fruit she made no effort to wipe away the juice dribbling down her chin; the knife returned to its sheath along her thigh.

“Why the knife?” Ike asked. “I thought laguz didn’t like to use weapons.”

“Your human weapons are burdensome things,” Lethe said, her tail flicking irritably, “but a pocketknife is too small to be a _weapon_.”

“Not in the right hands,” Soren muttered.

“So you don’t like beorc weapons, but beorc tools are fine?” Ike said. “I’m just trying to understand your reasoning is all.”

Lethe’s ears went flat against the side of her head. “I am not having a discussion this ridiculous with you!” she snapped. “A weapon is useless, and a tool is useful! That’s it!”

“Aw, Lethe, be nice,” said Ranulf, coming up to sling an arm around Lethe’s shoulders.

Lethe hissed at him and darted away, hiding out of sight behind a tree near the rest of their company. Ranulf stood standing with his arm cocked at the elbow for a moment before seamlessly pretending nothing had happened.

“I feel the need to apologize for her,” Ranulf said, “but I’d rather she did that herself.”

“It’s alright,” Ike said. “There’s a complicated history between beorc and laguz that I barely understand.”

“You have an open mind, though,” Ranulf said. “That’s worth more than you realize.”

A breeze stirred among the trees, scattering raindrops off the branches. The company groaned and complained from their huddled groups; the three horses snorted and pressed their flanks together as if that could keep them from getting drenched. Ike shook his wet bangs out of his face like a dog.

Soren suddenly perked up, eyes trained towards the trail leading to the border. At once Ike forgot his own discomforts.

“What is it?” Ike asked.

Soren was quiet a moment, lips slightly parted and brow just barely pinched, and even Ranulf was silently watching him. After a moment Soren broke whatever trance he was in and said:

“Wind patterns are bringing more rain from the west, but—Ike, there’s people coming this way.”

Ranulf’s ears pricked up at that. He waved a hand for Ike to stay put and shifted into cat form before darting into the bushes. Ike soon lost the white tip of his tail to the woods and waited, uneasy, rainwater soaking down his spine.

After a few minutes, Ranulf came bounding back.

“He’s right,” the cat said. “Daein soldiers are in a shallow ditch about half a mile north of here. They’re moving prisoners.”

“What?” Ike said.

“How many,” Soren pressed.

“Ten soldiers, eight prisoners. I have _no_ idea what they’re doing here, but the unlucky folks in irons smell Crimean to me.”

“And what does _that_ smell like?” Soren asked heatedly.

“Like country grass and wildflowers,” Ranulf said without skipping a beat. “Crimeans love their pasturelands. It also helps that one of the prisoners bore the Crimean Royal Crest on his armor.”

He grinned, his feline mouth all sharp teeth and whiskers, and Soren turned away to look at a rock that he deemed more interesting. Ike patted Soren gently on the shoulder.

“If it’s only ten soldiers, we don’t need the whole company making noise and giving away our location,” Ike said. “I’ll get Oscar and Titania. Soren can check on Rhys, and if he’s feeling alright he can come too. Ranulf, make sure Lethe and Mordecai are on their toes; I don’t want this to turn into a trap and have us separated from Elincia and the others.”

“On it, O Young Commander,” Ranulf said with a little purr. He trotted away, tail held high.

“Tell them to be cautious, please!” Ike called after him. He shook his head. “I don’t think I’m ever going to understand laguz, Soren.”

“Then you’ll be delighted to hear our trip to Begnion will take us through laguz-controlled waters,” Soren said dryly. “Chin up. If the King of Gallia ordered Lethe and Mordecai to join us amicably, then that means they can’t eat us in our sleep.”

“I’m not sure if that makes me feel any better.”

“Don’t think about it, then.”

Ike pulled a face and immediately sputtered as a raindrop fell right into his eye. Soren let out an involuntary laugh.

“Come on,” Ike said, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand as he started towards the company. They soon had their auxiliary group together, and with the midday rain showing no signs of easing up, Ranulf led the way through the woods.

They found the prisoners and their black-armored escorts easily enough. The ditch Ranulf had seen them in ran in an arc north to southeast, the remnants of a long-since abandoned river channel with silt and mud caked along both sides. Thick ferns and willow trees bent over the ditch and hung with heavy leaves as if they could sense the mood of the Crimean prisoners marching sullenly beneath them.

Flanked by Daeins armed with spears and crossbows, two rows of haggard-looking people shuffled along the muddy ground with their ankles and wrists bound together with manacles and chains. Half the group was dressed like civilians. One woman in particular had her silk skirts balled up in her hands, trying desperately to keep them out of the mud. Only three wore any sort of armor, and only one looked like he knew how to use it.

Crouching in the thick underbrush on the upper bank, Ike mentally tallied their conditions and tried to come up with a plan.

“Why in the world would Daein need civilians?” Soren said, hiding in the shadow of a cottonwood tree beside Ike. “Labor? Forced military service?”

“I don’t know,” Ike replied, “but we can’t let them exploit these people no matter the reason. We can’t cross the ditch without them seeing us. We have no horses.”

“Then we attack swiftly and from three directions,” Soren said. “Oscar and Titania from the back. You and me at the head. Rhys stays in the bushes, and the cat can launch from our position right here.”

“‘The cat’ has a name and would love to be addressed as such,” said Ranulf, poking his furry head in between Ike and Soren’s shoulders. His whiskers brushed their cheeks. Soren flinched backward into the tree trunk, smacking his shoulder against the bark.

“Don’t _do_ that!” Soren hissed at him.

Ranulf only purred. He pressed his white belly against the ground and shimmied forward so he could peer through the ferns at the prisoners.

“Oh, Ashera, not _him_ ,” Oscar suddenly grumbled from Ike’s other side.

It took Ike a moment to realize who was speaking—he’d never heard Oscar’s voice drag so low, even about Mist’s first cooking attempts.

“Who?” Ike asked, confused.

“ _Him_ ,” Oscar said, pointing out a redhead in crimson armor embossed with gold filigree. The man insisted on walking with his chin up, even though he was getting rainwater all over his face. “Kieran. He and I served together in the Crimean Royal Knights, though he’s four years my junior.”

“Is he a capable fighter?”

“With an axe in his hands, yes, but only most of the time. He’s quick to jump to conclusions and he’s lamed more than one horse in the time I’ve known him. The others I don’t recognize.”

“He might join us, then,” Soren said from his position against the tree, trying to keep his legs from brushing against Ranulf’s flanks. “Him and the other two in armor. We can certainly use the numbers.”

“All right,” Ike said. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.. “Let’s get into position, then.”

The fight, if it could be called that, was a joke. By the time the Daeins realized they were under attack, half their soldiers had fallen to the ground and their commanding officer was missing a head courtesy of Titania’s battleaxe. The prisoners yelped and clumped together, pulling their leg chains taut and tripping their captors as they scrambled about the muddy ditch. The last one standing dropped his crossbow and bolted, leaping for the ferns lining the higher ground.

Soren cut him down with a whispered breath of wind.

Ike let the drizzling rain wash his blade clean of what little blood it had to draw. He sheathed his sword, grateful he didn’t need to add anyone new to his death count.

Titania and Oscar were helping the prisoners untangle themselves from their self-made knot of chains, and Ranulf had gone to help Rhys down the muddy slope. For a moment, Ike could breathe and not feel the weight of battle on him.

“That was skillfully done.”

Ike whirled around, blade half-drawn from its scabbard again by the time he saw the offending speaker.

The lithe man leaned casually against a boulder embedded in silt, though he himself lacked any trace of mud or grime. His leather armor was close-fitting and dyed to match the mottled stone and shade of castles. His sharp chin was studded with stubble, but his eyes were like steel and betrayed nothing.

“Who are you?” Ike demanded. Soren had appeared at his side, one hand already poised to cast one of his book’s few remaining spells.

“No one of consequence,” said the stranger.

“You’re sorely lacking social etiquette, aren’t you?” Soren said. His fingertips brushed an open page. “State your business.”

“My business is with Sir Greil, and that is to whom I’ll speak. Take me to him.”

“He’s dead,” Ike said. _Sir? Since when was Father a knight?_ He swallowed quickly, fighting down the dread feeling in his chest that came from accepting Greil’s death.

The stranger quirked a single sandy-brown eyebrow. He made a noncommittal hum.

“Well,” he said. “That presents…somewhat of a problem.”

“And why’s that?” Ike said. He took a bold step forward; the stranger made no move to back away. If Ike wanted to, he could unsheathe his sword all the way and provoke the man at swordpoint…

…but that would only make things worse. Ike let his sword hilt click into its scabbard.

The stranger looked wholly unimpressed.

“If you’re trying to scare me, pup, you’ll need to do better than that,” he said.

_Pup. Only Father called me that._

“…Who _are_ you?” Ike asked. He could feel a light breeze stir the hem of his cape, and he made a motion with his free hand for Soren to back off.

“Call me Volke,” said the stranger. “If Sir Greil’s dead, that means I’m to give my findings to his son, who I’m presuming is you given your genetics and your temper.”

“I—” Ike stammered. A bloom of indignation fluttered in his chest; Ike forced it down. “What did my father need from you?” he asked instead.

“I work in intelligence. Sir Greil hired me to investigate a sensitive matter, one which I won’t divulge unless my fee is met.”

“And how much is that?” Soren asked.

“Fifty thousand gold.”

“That’s absurd,” Soren said. “Commander Greil was not one to make obscene financial decisions like that. You’ll have to try better if you want to con someone out of decent coin.”

Volke shrugged. “Call me a liar, then, but I won’t stay to hear it. Have fun with your game of lock-and-chain back there, by the way.”

He stood to his full height—a fair set of inches taller than Ike—and started to walk away down the old riverbed.

“Wait,” Ike called.

“Ike!” said Soren, tugging on Ike’s elbow. “We have no way of verifying his claims!”

“But he knew my father—he called me _pup_ , that’s a nickname only Father used for me. Volke, listen…”

Volke had stopped only a few feet away, and he craned his head over his shoulder.

“Yes?” he said.

“I don’t have fifty thousand gold marks,” Ike said. “But I can get it if you give me time.”

“Swell. Not a word until then—when you get the money, stop in any tavern in mid-south Crimea and ask the barkeep for a fireman. You’ll see me within the hour.”

Volke started to walk away again, but this time Soren was the one who called him back.

“Hold on—lock-and-chain game—is information the only thing you sell?” Soren called.

Volke sighed, rolling his shoulders back as he exaggeratedly turned around to talk to them again. The drizzle was finally starting to let up, but beads of water still spilled from Volke’s leather when he moved.

“Don’t beat around the bush, kid,” Volke said.

“Can you pick locks?” Soren said through gritted teeth. Ike surreptitiously put a hand between his friend’s shoulderblades; no sense picking another fight over semantics.

“Fifty apiece.”

“Fine. Just get those manacles off the prisoners so we can move on with our lives.”

Ike checked over his shoulder. Sure enough, Oscar and Titania—now with Rhys and bipedal Ranulf—were having a hell of a time trying to undo the thick irons on the prisoners’ wrists and ankles. Apparently none of the Daein escorts had keys on them, likely thinking they wouldn’t need to free their captives until they reached their destination.

Volke shrugged. “Sure. As long as I get paid, you’ll get no complaints from me.”

He strode past them towards the group, whistling a tuneless melody.

“…I still don’t think agreeing to his ludicrous price was a good idea,” Soren said once Volke was out of earshot.

“Maybe not,” Ike said. “But I’ll take any information I can get about what Father was really up to. Mist can’t remember a thing about Gallia either, Titania didn’t know much, and King Caineghis said…he said my parents were being hunted by something. And I’ll risk financial ruin any day if it means I don’t have to risk my family’s lives.”

Soren nodded quietly to himself. The rain had plastered his hair to his cheeks, and for a moment Ike had the urge to pull those stray black strands back together.

But he kept his hands still. And Soren pulled his hair back on his own, muttering about how the rain had ruined the sigil on the page he’d left open and unused.

“We’ll get a new one,” Ike said. “Toha’s bound to have a place that sells blank books. Until then…you can’t use spells written on tree leaves, right?”

He smiled thinly, trying to play off the memory that felt so long ago now—giving Soren cottonwood leaves, telling tall tales of rebuilding the old fort’s library once they came back from Gallia. Now that their escort mission had become a whole lot more complicated, that seemed like a fantasy that could never come true.

But Soren cracked the edge of a smile. He snorted.

“Sure, but only if it’s written with berries,” he said, tucking his rain-soaked book back into its leather straps on his hip. “Otherwise the spell won’t hold.”

“…I can’t tell if you’re joking with me or not,” Ike said.

“You need to use the right berries with the proper tree leaves. Otherwise you’ll end up casting dark magic instead of anima.”

“Okay, seriously, your voice is the same one you use to tell me about _actual_ facts.”

Soren said nothing. He gestured towards the cluster of folks and the pile of iron and chains.

“Seems they’re close to finishing up,” he said. “You ought to introduce yourself, being our commander and all.”

Before Ike could ask another question, Soren started off towards the group, leaving Ike shaking his head.

_Well, if I get in trouble for casting spells with the wrong combination of plants, he’ll only have himself to blame,_ Ike thought with a small smile, following his friend towards the clamor of people.


	29. Chapter 29

Soren was going to find whoever invented the inkwell and demand they make something that actually lasted heavy travel.

Somehow, the three-quarters-full well that he’d brought from their old fort in Crimea was down to its last drops thanks to a crack that had appeared after they’d left Zarzi. The ink on the scroll in his hands was faded, but it would have to do until they reached Toha to resupply. Soren scratched another tic mark on the paper and stared down the portly man seated in front of him.

“Let me get this straight,” Soren said clinically. “Your name is Brom, you’re a farmer of commoner descent; you come from Ohma village in central Crimea, you serve in the local militia and manage a wheat and rye farm with your family.”

“That’s it!” said Brom, his button nose matching the dimples on his cheeks as he smiled. “I gotta say, you’re real good at tallyin’ and keeping things in your memory—you must have a brain as big as the whole village back home put together!”

“I don’t think that’s a compliment on your town.”

“It’s not? Well, you’re a smart kid! No wonder you all’ve got a coordinated operation goin’ on here!”

Soren did his best to hide a wince. That was the second time in one afternoon he’d been called a kid.

 _Eighteen is not a child,_ he thought. _It’s not my fault I look young for my age._

“And you don’t know anything about Daein’s plans for you?” Soren asked instead. “Any information would be helpful.”

“Lesse…they was bringing us to a place called Canteus Castle,” Brom said. “Didn’t sound nice at all, no sir. They planned on—on torturin’ us if we refused to work for them!”

Soren made a noncommittal hum and circled ‘Canteus’ on a separate page under the scroll.

 _If Daein’s seized that landmark, then they’ve crossed further into Gallia than we thought,_ he realized. _I doubt they plan a direct statement of war, not yet at least, but rather take what unoccupied fortresses they can and slowly creep upon the Gallian population centers. Sooner or later they’ll provoke a response from the…laguz, even if their king refuses to make a formal declaration…_

He glanced up and realized Brom was still sitting there, hands on his knees.

“You’re dismissed,” Soren said.

“So I can come with y’all?” Brom said, beaming. “And you’ll help kick the Daeins off our land?”

“…Sure. Go introduce yourself to your princess before you get carried away.”

“Oh, gosh, that’s right, the real Crimean Princess is here with y’all!” Brom stood up, dusting the back of his breeches free from dirt and the wet pine needles that clung to the fabric. Sitting on a log that had been drenched with rain did no favors for anyone’s clothes. “What a treat! I heard rumors there was a missin’ princess, but this was way back when, mind you—never thought much of it, just some drunkard spiel from the pubs, but then one day Nephenee—you met her, she’s the lass with the long seaglass hair—well, one day she came up to me at the farm and said ‘Brom, I reckon there’s bound t’be some manner of truth to that ol’ rumor, and—’”

“Please go,” Soren said through gritted teeth.

Brom mumbled an apology and shuffled out of the tent—if a tarp stretched between two trees counted as a ‘tent’. Soren cleared the scrolls and quill pen off his lap and took a moment to let out a deep, irrepressible _sigh_. He pressed his knuckles against his brow.

The rain had stopped shortly after lunch—a meal Soren skipped in order to conduct interviews. He ignored the little twinge of hunger in his stomach and stood, making sure his things were bundled and dry, and left the tarp. The company hadn’t left their spot in the pine trees since Ike, Soren, and the others had come back just after midday. Without the sun to accurately measure the time, it was hard to say how long they’d spent sitting around taking care of clerical business, but Soren was antsy to move. He wove around the edges of the pine trees, ducking to avoid any low-hanging branches that would scatter raindrops on his hair. He found a relatively dry trunk and leaned against it with crossed arms, surveying the camp.

The people they’d rescued from Daein’s transport were…well, ‘interesting’ seemed the tamest option, but ‘capable’ was certainly an overstatement.

Brom was easy enough to find. The big man was on one knee beside Elincia, apologizing about bumping into her without realizing who she was. He was clumsy, spoke with a long drawl like a summer heatwave, and hadn’t seen a proper barber for his tuft of brown hair probably his entire life. But despite his mismatched armor—one piece of which had clearly been made from hammering out old kitchen pots—he was a farmer, and he knew his way around an axe.

 _He’ll need training with Boyd,_ Soren thought, tapping his fingers against one arm. _He’s a bit too timid when it comes to talking about his skill. And Boyd could use the practice fighting someone bigger than him._

Nephenee was also paying her respects to Elincia, blushing beet-red and keeping one hand on the visor of her helmet as if she could hide underneath it. She was a slim young woman, roughly Elincia’s age, with as deep an accent as Brom and muscle underneath her simple country garb and militia armor. Her family also came from Ohma, though they were chicken and dairy farmers rather than grain. Nephenee bowed to Elincia and scampered away, long seaglass-colored hair trailing down her back.

 _She needs confidence if she’s going to stay,_ Soren thought. _Maybe Marcia or Mia…?_

Oscar walked past, leading his horse and shaking his head. Hardly two steps behind him was the redhead they’d rescued, a boisterous young man Oscar knew as Kieran—another Crimean Royal Knight who spoke like he had to reach all corners of the camp with his voice and refused to understand the meaning of stealth.

Soren rolled his eyes once they passed. _He’s Oscar’s problem, not mine._

The other civilians were clustered around Ilyana of all people, hugging and swinging the girl around like she was part of their family. Apparently they were the merchant group Ilyana had been traveling with south from Daein—thankfully unaffiliated with Ashnard or the army—and, now that they’d found their little thunder mage, had no intention of letting her go. In fact, they insisted on traveling with the mercenaries for the sake of personal profit.

Soren frowned, watching them from a distance. It was a double-edged sword. On one hand, having people who intimately knew commerce was a huge boon for the company, especially since the twins Daniel and Jorge were prentice blacksmiths and the bear-muscled man Muston knew his way around a forge. The only issue was the woman, Aimee. She insisted she could haggle the crown off a king’s head and could read your fortune for a price, but all Soren heard out of her was elaborate get-rich-quick schemes. Speaking to her for even a minute had been enough for him to wish they’d left her behind.

But the benefits outweighed the annoyance. And Ike’s word as commander was final.

Soren caught a glimpse of Ike talking with the last of their newcomers on the edge of camp. Carefully, Soren picked his way around tree roots and pine needles until he could take his place by Ike’s side.

“…would be acceptable to you,” the taller man in his drab wool cloak was saying. “But I understand if that’s an unreasonable request.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Ike said. “You’re more than welcome. And we could always use the extra set of eyes.”

“What’s being decided?” Soren asked.

“Ah, Soren, there you are!” Ike said, instinctively tilting his posture to include Soren in the conversation. “Sephiran heard we were going to Toha, and he has business there; he’ll be joining us until we reach the harbor.”

Sephiran turned his elegant head and smiled serenely down at Soren. He was tall and slim like a shorebird with almond-shaped eyes and long black hair that fell to his tailbone. When Soren had interviewed him when they’d first gotten back to camp, Sephiran had claimed he was a monk on a pilgrimage across Tellius, but had declined any further explanation. He wore a plain wool cloak over cream-and-gold robes, the hems of which were frayed and marked with mud stains.

But his eyes. There was nothing there but time-carved weariness.

Soren felt that knot in his stomach return, but this time not from hunger.

“Is something wrong?” Ike asked, looking between Soren and Sephiran.

“Oh, nothing at all,” Sephiran said, turning his smooth gaze to Ike. “I apologize; I’ve been told I make people uneasy since I maintain such strong eye contact in conversation. It’s an old habit, I’m afraid.”

“It’s alright,” Ike said. “My father…he used to stare down his enemies to intimidate them. It certainly made my sister and I stop bickering when we were younger.”

Sephiran chuckled lightly. “I find that eyes are the window to the soul, so to speak. I’ve gotten quite good at understanding strangers this way.”

“Really,” Soren said flatly.

“I’d be happy to give a demonstration,” said Sephiran.

He tilted his head and pointed a slim finger at Soren.

“For instance, _you_ lash out to protect your own emotions and use defensiveness as a coping mechanism; you hide behind harsh words because it is better to be alone than risk betrayal for the sake of happiness.”

Soren felt a flare of anger rise in his chest, but before he could say anything, Sephiran turned his hand and gestured loosely at Titania polishing armor nearby.

“ _She_ believes that brute force can overpower grief,” Sephiran continued, “and that justice reigns over tyranny—even when confronted with direct evidence otherwise—because it is better to believe in fallacies than truth.”

He pivoted on his heel and pointed at Ike’s chest.

“ _You_ bottle your emotions deep inside you for fear of acknowledging them,” Sephiran said coolly. “You think that being strong means never admitting when you’re scared, never slowing down enough to grieve, and never asking for help—because it is better to shoulder the world’s problems on your own than let those you care for suffer from your actions.”

Ike was silent. Soren could see Ike’s throat bob nervously, and Soren nudged Ike gently in the side to bring him out of his own head.

“…How did you do that?” Ike asked carefully.

“I’ve picked up many things along my pilgrimage,” said Sephiran. “I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I’ll assist with preparations for the road if it’s all the same to you.”

Sephiran bowed politely to both Ike and Soren and took his leave. Ike was quiet, one hand tapping the pommel of the sword at his hip. Soren folded his arms and dug his fingernails into his sleeves.

“…That was weird,” Ike said finally.

“I don’t like him,” Soren said.

“You don’t like a lot of people, to be fair.”

“Yes, but in this particular instance I believe it best we let him continue his pilgrimage _without_ us.”

“I don’t think he’s _bad_ ,” Ike said, “he just…I’m not sure. That thing about reading peoples’ eyes was strange.”

 _And strangely accurate,_ Soren thought to himself. He tightened his grip on his own arms.

“We should reach Toha in two days if we leave before midafternoon,” Ike said, reaching around to tighten the knot on the strip of cloth he’d tied around his head. “As long as he isn’t openly starting a fight, I see no reason why we shouldn’t let Sephiran travel with us for such a short period of time.”

Soren shrugged. “As you wish, Commander.”

Ike frowned, as if he was going to say something else, but he stayed quiet. Soren kept his arms around his chest as he followed Ike towards the rest of camp.

Ranulf caught them as they were heading into the center of camp. He was untransformed and dancing on the balls of his feet as he approached, jogging in place like he was getting his heart rate up before a race. His ears flicked forward from underneath his orange leather headband.

“Ah, good to see you!” he said, grinning at Ike and Soren. “I hoped to catch you before I left!”

“Wait, ‘left’? Where are you going?” Ike asked.

“I need to see a man about a ship,” Ranulf replied smoothly. In a flash he was on all four paws—still tall enough at the shoulder to reach Soren’s hip—and stretched until his furry back cracked. “Can’t have you getting to Toha and being high and dry, so to speak. I’ll return once I have some arrangements for you. King’s orders.”

“I…alright,” Ike said. “Safe travels.”

 _He’s too trusting,_ Soren sighed, wishing Ike would just once ask for specifics. _But, then again, that’s just how he’s always been._

“Don’t you worry your blue-haired head about me,” Ranulf said, winking one of his miscolored eyes at Ike. “I’m one of the fastest runners in Gallia—I’ll be back before you can blink!”

Ranulf inclined his head respectfully to Soren before he bounded away into the underbrush. Within seconds the rustling bushes ceased, and the cat was gone.

“…I’ve blinked,” Soren said dryly. “He’s not back.”

“Oh, come on, it’s just hyperbole,” Ike said. He tried to smile, but whether it was Sephiran’s unnerving comments or something deeper that smile faded as soon as it graced the corner of his lips. “Here, we should finish inventory so we can move out soon. I don’t want to get caught in another downpour while we’re unprepared.”

Soren took a deep breath, tasting the humidity in the air. A whisper of wind curled around his ankles.

“We’ll be fine for another two hours,” he said, “but then the rain will pick up again from the southwest.”

Ike shook his head in wonder. “Speaking of uncanny abilities, how do _you_ predict the weather so accurately?”

“Wind-listening,” Soren said. “It comes with practicing aeolian—wind-based—magic for so long. Being a ‘spirit charmer’ and all,” he added, waggling the fingers on one hand.

Ike laughed. Soren tried to let the sound bring him levity, but Sephiran’s observations still needled at him with every passing second.

 _…There’s something not right about that man,_ Soren thought as he followed Ike around the camp. Sephiran, who was now deep in conversation with Rhys, caught Soren’s eye as they passed by and smiled wanly at him.

Soren shivered. He ducked around to Ike’s other side just so Sephiran couldn’t get a second look at him.

 _The sooner we reach Toha_ , _the better…_

***

Boats creaked in the harbor as dark waves lapped against their hulls. The crescent moon was shrouded by clouds, burying Toha in shadow. The orange glow from oil lanterns and bars along the boardwalk were the only sources of light in the deep black night. Every breath of air was laden with salt and brine, oyster and clam, driftwood and beach pine and the crackling bursts of smoke from the homes of beorc who claimed Toha as their saltwater sanctuary.

Ranulf clung to a thick rope with his claws, edging forward paw over paw and keeping his tail straight out for balance. The water below was bound to be unpleasantly cold if he accidentally fell in. Salt crystals dug into his paw pads and the fresh nicks in the skin from racing through the woods and plains for hours.

 _And not a moment to spare,_ he thought, twitching his whiskers. The lack of light didn’t bother him too much—beasts and dragons had the best nightvision of all laguz, after all—but there were still too many beorc out this late for Ranulf to truly feel comfortable. The galleon Ranulf was creeping alongside had strings of lights suspended on the upper deck and the sounds of a party in full drunken swing. A fiddler sat with her legs dangling over the side of the ship, playing a soft melody like the distant call of a nightingale.

 _Maybe if one of the beorc spots me, I’ll just tell them they’re dreaming and to stay off the rum,_ Ranulf thought with a chuckle as he prowled unseen underneath the party.

At the fore of the ship he sprang from his rope to a post jutting out of the harbor, then again and again from post to dock to post until he grabbed on to a second rope with his claws, bobbing for a moment before he regained his balance and climbed his way to the top.

He emerged on the railing of a weather-worn trader’s ship—two-masted and long, with a wide upper deck and a single lantern burning around the other side of the captain’s cabin. Ranulf took a moment to sit up straight and roll his shoulders before he licked his paws and started to run them along his face.

“I do hope it was only your vanity that made you late and not any complications,” said a voice from the dark.

Ranulf’s ears swiveled to catch the sound, and he let a purr creep into his voice when he replied, “Nasir, Nasir, always straight to business with you! If I had bothered to be truly vain, why, I wouldn’t have shown up here at all!”

Ranulf peered over his shoulder at the shadows around the captain’s cabin. The man in question stood as a statue against the cabin wall with his arms folded over his chest, dressed in undyed cotton that smelled of incense. His eyes pinched at the corners as he frowned.

“It’s nearly three in the morning, Ranulf.”

“Well, pardon my tardiness, then. At least I come with good news for a change, eh?”

“Go on.”

“They’re on the way. Shouldn’t take them more than another day and a half, especially now that I cleared out the Daeins guarding the marsh bridge.”

Nasir’s face was like carved wood, though Ranulf was glad to see a little twitch of what he assumed was a positive emotion cross the man’s face. Nasir motioned with a hand covered in rings for Ranulf to continue.

Ranulf stretched out onto his belly on the railing, letting his tail and one leg hang over the side of the ship.

“Their commander will want to meet with you personally before agreeing to passage,” Ranulf said. “He means no disrespect, but he _is_ cautious when it comes to protecting his merry band. I doubt he’ll take my word alone before he can verify your merit with his own two eyes.”

“I would do the same in his position,” Nasir replied. “Very well. I’ll be at The Wild Rose in two days’ time from ten to twelve in the morning.”

Nasir started to turn away, but Ranulf stretched as far as he could go against the railing, tilting his head playfully to the side to keep Nasir’s attention.

“I do _so_ enjoy our chats, Nasir,” Ranulf said sarcastically. “No small talk, no pretending at being friends—come on, haven’t you missed me? Read any good books lately? Some weather we’re having! How’s the family?”

Nasir shot him a dagger-filled look that almost made Ranulf fall off the railing. He dug his claws into the wood and pulled himself back onto his haunches.

“Our business is through, cat,” said Nasir. “I suggest you return to your charges and see that they survive long enough to reach my ship in the first place.”

Nasir strode around the side of the cabin. A few seconds later, the only lit lantern on the ship blew out. Ranulf waited until he heard the door to the cabin click shut before he let his posture relax.

“Yikes,” Ranulf muttered to himself. “Must’ve hit a sore spot. I guess the guy doesn’t like books or something.”

He shrugged, shook his paws out, and hopped onto the rope down to the docks, leaving the darkened ship behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, take care of yourselves & each other.


	30. Chapter 30

Ike rubbed his eyes and willed himself to wake up as he walked along the sandy dirt road to Toha. Beside him on the road, Titania smiled sympathetically and patted him on the shoulder.

“We’ll get something hot to drink once we arrive,” she said. She breathed in deeply and sighed with a smile. “Ah, I’ve missed the sea. The way the sun strikes the water, it’s like the sky is lit up like a swath of fire…”

“…Which would look nice, I’m sure, if we actually _had_ a sun to marvel at,” Soren said from Ike’s other side. He was scowling at the trees and the strip of ocean visible through the gaps in the pine trunks, where the sky was a gray miasma with drifts of fog winding their way along the coast.

Titania shrugged. “Maybe it’ll burn off,” she said. “Coastal weather tends to be like that. Clouds and fog in the morning, sunlight and clear skies in the afternoon.”

“Ideally we’ll be back before then,” Ranulf said from up ahead. He turned around to walk backwards, grinning at them. “Depending how the meeting goes, of course.”

“Mm,” Ike hummed. He rolled his shoulders trying to get a crick out; unsuccessful, he rubbed at his muscles while they continued down the road.

They’d camped in the woods a mile from Toha, just inland of a small beach surrounded by rocks and coastal pines. Standing on the shore, Ike could see the jutting harbor of Toha as a strip of dark land and white-masted ships down the coastline. Thankfully, none of the ships had sailed anywhere close to their inlet, but Ike had insisted they only come to the beach to scout or fish just to be safe.

Ranulf’s ears suddenly perked up. He slowed, peering at something in the trees behind them.

“Someone’s following us,” he said. His ears flicked back and forth.

A branch cracked. Ike sidestepped around Soren to put himself closer to the woods and half-drew his sword.

“Who’s there?” he called.

“Easy, it’s just me,” said a shadow from the woods. Volke stepped out from the trees, holding his hands up defensively, though one had a small knife held against the palm. A rabbit hung by the legs from his belt.

“Volke?” Titania said. “What are you doing out here?”

“Breakfast,” Volke said, indicating the rabbit. “You were making so much noise I barely caught the damn thing.”

“No, she means—what are you doing _here_?” Ike asked. “I thought you left after you broke the locks on those prisoners’ manacles. I certainly didn’t see you hanging around our campsites.”

Volke shrugged. “Figured I’d keep an eye on my investment. Didn’t mean I had to make myself known.”

Ike didn’t like the sound of that, especially knowing he was thirty thousand gold marks short from fulfilling said investment—and was about to be even shorter, depending on how much passage to Begnion cost them. 

“Ike, what is he talking about?” Titania asked.

“I…he has information my father asked him to find,” Ike said. “I told him I’d pay his fee in exchange for the information.”

“A rather steep fee,” Soren muttered.

Titania clicked her tongue disapprovingly, but Ranulf tapped her on the arm and beckoned her aside. Volke watched the exchange with an impassive expression.

“Well, you look like you’re in the middle of something,” he said, “so I’ll be on my way. Breakfast awaits.”

“No, hold on,” Soren said, stepping forward around Ike. Volke’s shoulders slipped exaggeratedly forward, but he actually stopped, giving Soren the most bored look Ike had ever seen someone muster. Soren stood up a little straighter. “You must have countless ‘investments’ across Crimea, possibly worth more than fifty thousand a contract. There has to be more to it than that.”

“Alright, you got me,” Volke said flatly. “I’m actually curious about what you do. I’ve no interest in joining your merry little band, but I _am_ interested in making a coin or two. Hitching a ride to Begnion would present quite a few opportunities I’m keen to take advantage of.”

“Hm.”

Soren looked up at Ike.

“He could be useful,” Soren said. “No one else has lockpicking skills among the company. He’s dubious at best, but at least we know his motives—everything begins and ends with gold. He’ll be easy to control.”

There was a pause. Ike looked between them.

“Soren, he’s standing _right there._ ”

“I don’t think he minds.”

Volke shrugged. “Whatever. Call me if you need anything. But I’m not sharing breakfast.”

Volke strolled away, flipping his knife in the air and catching it in one hand, and soon he’d walked diagonally off the road and back into the woods. Ike shook his head.

“I don’t get that guy,” he said.

“I don’t think anyone does,” Soren said.

Ike set his shoulders, made sure his sword was buckled securely, and made to set out again—but Ranulf was still peering curiously down the road.

“What is it?” Ike asked.

“There’s someone else,” Ranulf said, squinting his green-and-purple eyes. “I thought I saw something, but they’re downwind…”

The road behind them curved around an outcrop of worn granite, and when Ike turned to look, he caught a familiar glimpse of honey-brown hair duck out of sight behind the rock.

 _Oh, come on,_ he thought. He knuckled his forehead.

“Mist,” he called, “you have ten seconds to either come out or go back to camp. I’m not joking. One… two… three…four…”

His younger sister darted out from behind the rocks, half-jogging half-walking to meet up with them. She kicked her ankle-height boots into the sandy dirt defiantly.

“Mist!” Titania exclaimed. “What are you doing? You should be at camp with the others! It’s dangerous to wander around alone, you know this…”

“You were all going off on something important again!” Mist said, crossing her arms. She hadn’t bothered brushing her hair, and flyaways poked out from the two ponytails she’d pulled in front of her shoulders. “And I—I couldn’t sleep last night, and I saw you guys get ready and head out all secret-like, and I…I wanted to be a part of it, too.”

“Even the Princess is back at camp,” Titania said, coming over to rest a hand on Mist’s shoulder. “We’re going to a very important meeting.”

“And boring,” Soren said. “It’s all figures and logistics. You hate that kind of thing.”

“Well, if I can listen to _you_ go on super specific lectures that only Ike cares about, I can sit through a boring meeting!”

“Hey!”

“Stop—it is _way_ too early to be bickering,” Ike said, holding a hand against his temple. “Let me think.”

He looked at his sister, who had tilted her chin up at him with a familiar blaze in her eyes. Ike rubbed at his left eye with the heel of his hand.

“…Okay, you can come,” he said reluctantly, “but only because if I say ‘no’ you’ll just tail us anyway and get in trouble, right?”

“Yep!” said Mist.

“Figured. But please, when we get to town, stay with me, okay? None of us have been to Toha before except Ranulf. We don’t know what the town’s like, and the last thing I want is for you to get separated.”

Mist rolled her eyes. “Sure, sure,” she said in a tone Ike knew as her ‘agree to disagree’ voice, and then skipped past him to talk with Ranulf. Within seconds the two were happily chattering away about Toha’s notable sights. Even though his cloak fell to his knees, Ranulf’s tail swished from side to side and made the fabric move on its own.

Ike sighed, rubbing his eye again.

 _It’s barely eight in the morning,_ he thought, _and already I want the day to be over. That can’t be a good sign._

But he set his jaw and walked on, the harbor looming closer and closer through the trees.

***

Downtown Toha was a cluster of pubs and shops squished together like barnacles and patched with salvaged wood. Apartments perched on top of storefronts until the edges of town, where square cottages huddled among small fenced-in lots of cultivated marsh grass and decorative shrubs. It was a simple town with a simple trade. A heavy mist clung to every wooden post and sign, every rooftop and window pane, every passerby on the cobblestone streets minding their own business and hustling to get from harbor to home and back again. Light rain drizzled in bursts from the low-hanging clouds and soaked into Mist’s clothes as she walked along.

She breathed in the salty air and let out a contended sigh, swinging her arms back and forth as she kept pace with her longer-legged brother. Ranulf walked a pace ahead of them whistling a shanty-like tune, and though the wide edge of her hood blocked her from seeing them Mist could hear Soren and Titania’s voices behind her talking about import-exports. Ike had brought his sword, and Soren had a few wind sigils on a piece of paper tucked in his collar, but other than that everyone was wearing normal clothes and not a scrap of heavy armor.

With the exception of Ranulf, it was almost like old times. Titania used to take Mist and Ike—and Soren if they could persuade him—down to one of the nearby villages if there was a break in work or a particularly nice day just to wander and socialize. Mist would fawn over nice fabrics with Titania and insist on trying on things they’d never own, Ike would drag them around to find the local blacksmith, and Soren would root himself in a bookstore and be sitting in the same place for hours just reading. If it was a _really_ nice day, Titania would buy them each a confection to eat beside the river, and if it was a _spectacularly_ nice day Father would be there, too, hoisting Mist onto his shoulders or showing Ike the difference between forged metals, laughing that rough gravelly laugh that made the fields sing.

Mist’s hand went to her skirt pocket and curled around her medallion. Her eyes had gone watery from the rain.

She stumbled over a loose cobblestone and almost fell, but Ike grabbed her quickly by the arm and tugged her back to the side.

“I’m sorry, brother!” she said.

“You’re fine, Mist,” Ike said quietly, “but watch where your feet are going. You can hold on to my cloak if you want.”

“I’m not _that_ small anymore!”

“Right, you’re barely fifteen, but you’re still as short as a twelve-year-old.”

Mist pouted, but before she could fire a retort they stopped in front of a narrow building paneled with rose-colored shiplap.

“We’re here!” Ranulf interrupted, flashing them a cheery smile underneath his rain-soaked cloak. The disguise was nigh-perfect—no one could see his ears the way his hood slanted around his face, and anyone who saw the blue stripe marks on his cheeks would assume they were tattoos like many of the other sailors. He’d threaded his tail into one of his back belt loops and let the brown fabric of his cloak fall harmlessly to his knees. If Mist didn’t already know the man, she’d assume he was just a beorc on his business about town—and that’s just what they hoped everyone else would assume, too.

She tugged on her own hood to hide her flushed cheeks. It wasn’t her fault she was short, especially compared to Ike and Titania, but that didn’t mean she was fragile.

 _Now I’m starting to sound like brother,_ she thought, trailing behind Ike and Soren into the pub. _‘I’m fifteen, I’m not a child anymore!’ ‘Let me join the company, Father!’ ‘I promise I’m mature!’ Sheesh, I hope I’m not_ that _annoying about it, at least…_

Mist lifted her hood as she stepped over a raised plank in the floor. Already the warmth of the pub was drying her legs; she’d made the mistake of wearing longer skirts that had gotten damp as soon as she’d started walking after Ike and the others that morning. She had half a mind to stop and wring them out, but that would almost certainly get them sour looks from the patrons, so she shook out what she could and fell in behind Titania.

The Wild Rose was a narrow pub centered around an L-shaped bar made from polished ship siding. A fire was crackling in a brick hearth on the back wall, and paired with the wrought iron lanterns suspended by chains from the ceiling it was surprisingly warm and well-lit. For ten-thirty in the morning, it was fairly crowded, and Mist’s mouth watered smelling all the eggs and fried foods in the air.

Ranulf ignored the high-top tables and made his way to the very back of the pub, motioning Ike to follow behind. Mist craned her neck to see around them. Someone was sitting in the shadowy corner of the furthermost booth, leaning against a window with a heavy wool cloak drawn up over their head.

“Everyone, this is my associate, Nasir,” Ranulf said, politely indicating the stranger and then gesturing at the booth across the table. “Please, have a seat, and I’ll fetch us some drinks!”

He turned about-face and left them alone; Mist took the first move and scooted in to the window on her side of the table, letting Ike, Soren, and Titania file in after. It was a crowded fit. Mist had to sit half on the windowsill in order to squeeze everyone in.

Ranulf returned in two trips, carrying mugs hooked through his fingers that steamed like the fog outside. Mist accepted hers gratefully and curled her hands around the warm porcelain.

“Honey milk steamers, nothing special,” Ranulf said, sliding in next to Nasir. “Nasir, quit being so cryptic! At least _say_ something, Ashera’s sake.”

A thin sigh emanated from the hood. Nasir angled his head to let some of the lanternlight from the ceiling fall across his face. He kept his hood over his ears, but Mist could finally get a good look at him—bronze skin, angled cheekbones and straight nose, brown-gray eyes perpetually deep in thought. He’d pulled his long curly hair to one side in a leather wrap, the curls so pale a shade of turquoise it was almost white. His cheeks glimmered like they were dusted with fine gold powder.

“I was merely waiting for all parties before beginning negotiations,” Nasir said smoothly, his voice lilted at the edges. “I dislike having to repeat myself.”

“He means he feels better when he knows at least one person at the table,” Ranulf said, sipping his mug. He licked away a milk mustache and grinned. “I get that. Not everyone can be as charismatic as yours truly.”

“Apparently,” Nasir said dryly.

Ike held out his hand. “My name’s Ike, and I lead the Greil Mercenaries,” he said. “This is my deputy commander, Titania, and my tactician, Soren. And,” he sighed, “my little sister, Mist, who insisted on coming.”

“A pleasure,” Nasir said. “I’ve heard tell of your mercenary company from Ranulf. I operate an independent trading ship operating along the Southern Sea.”

He shook Ike’s hand and brought his own hands neatly in front of him on the table. Thin silver and gold rings adorned his fingers, and small stones set into the metal bands glittered under the light. Mist caught herself staring too long at them and hurriedly buried her face in her mug.

“Am I correct that you don’t affiliate yourself with Daein?” Ike asked.

“I affiliate myself with no one,” Nasir said. “I trade with Begnion and Crimea purely for convenience. You’re at no risk of being sold out to Daein.”

“Unless someone offers the right price,” Soren said.

Nasir flipped open a notepad and withdrew a carved wooden pencil from his cloak.

“That is the nature of commerce,” he said, pressing the tip to paper. “As mercenaries yourselves, I’m sure you understand the importance of a well-paying bidder. Now, to business—how many people are you bringing?”

“Twenty-one,” Ike said, “and three horses—oh, and one pegasus, but I’m not sure if Marcia would want it cooped up in a stall with the others since it can just fly alongside the ship.”

“That’ll be twenty people, actually,” Ranulf interjected. “I’m afraid I’ll be leaving your little party once you’re safely in Nasir’s care.”

“You aren’t coming?” Mist asked.

Ranulf shook his head. “I’m needed by the King. I was to bring you to Toha and help arrange you passage to Begnion, which I’ve done, and then return straight home. Besides, as much as I’d like to come along, I don’t think Nasir here would welcome my company. He suffers from a very serious condition.”

He leaned over the table and put up a conspiratorial hand between him and Nasir, smirking at Mist’s side of the table.

“I’m afraid he’s allergic to fun,” Ranulf said in a fake-whisper.

Nasir let out a huff through his nose, but Mist and Ike shared a small laugh.

“Well, he and Soren will get along just fine, then,” Titania said, patting Soren on the shoulder. The boy hunched his shoulders like he could disappear from sight if he crouched low enough in the seat.

Mist took another long sip of her mug. The sweetness of it made her smile involuntarily, and she made a note to pay Ranulf back for the treat if her brother was too dense to do it himself.

They had the funds—King Caineghis had more than seen to that. He’d sent Ranulf with twenty thousand gold as a parting gift for Princess Elincia, intending for her to accept it in lieu of asylum from Daein given the political climate. Elincia had been reluctant to even take the money, let alone use it, but at Ranulf’s insistence she passed along the funds to Ike as payment for the Greil Mercenaries’ escort to Begnion. Ike, in turn, passed it to Soren, who spent so long budgeting in that first day that Mist swore she heard him mumble figures in his sleep.

It was still an exorbitant amount of gold. A fraction of that could have bought out any of the clothing stores in the villages around the old fort.

Mist let her mind wander to thoughts of home while her brother negotiated with Nasir. The crocuses along the back walls of the fort would have been well past their bloom by now—it was late spring, after all—but the wildflowers in the fields would be ready for picking. In years past, Mist and Rhys would forage for healing plants in those fields and dry them upside-down from all the rafters they could spare, until the whole fort smelled like clover and mugwort. The tea they made from meadow herbs even tasted like spring.

Mist sighed. Ike glanced at her once, warning her not to interrupt, and resumed his talk. Mist stuck her tongue out at him when she was confident no one at the table could see.

Ranulf winked a purple eye at her. Mist blushed and looked down at her mug.

“…find a solution for the horses, don’t worry,” Nasir was saying.

“Thank you,” Titania said.

Nasir waved his hand in acknowledgement and turned his attention back to Ike.

“I believe that answers all of your questions,” he said.

“The ones I’m willing to ask, yes,” Ike said. “Do you accept our itinerary?”

“Begnion is within my normal range of operations, yes, so I’ll do it…on several conditions.”

“Name them.”

Nasir tallied on his ring-covered fingers: “You’ll be responsible for your own supplies. This includes food—I have no intention to stop along the way, so whatever you bring must not be perishable. And you’ll need to be willing to work. My former crew’s contract finished a week ago and they’ve all dispersed.”

“So your ship’s unmanned?” Titania asked.

“Unmanned but not unprotected,” Nasir replied. “It’s a merchant vessel—I have plenty of failsafes to prevent theft—but one man cannot sail a ship that large.”

“We’ll work,” Ike said. “I’ll make sure everyone under our leadership puts in their fair share.”

Mist resisted the urge to groan. The idea of getting ropeburn on her hands trying to haul in a sail ten times her own weight was enough to make her want to take her chances walking to Begnion instead.

Nasir nodded. “Very good. The last condition is payment—I do not sail my ship through laguz-controlled waters without good reason, especially carrying so many beorc. My fee for passage will be five hundred gold a head.”

Soren snorted. Nasir flashed him a dangerous look—Mist swore his pupils were somehow thinner, but the flickering light of the lantern above their table was playing with the shadows from their hoods.

“That’s far too much,” Soren said.

“Then you’ll need to find yourselves another ship to commandeer,” Nasir replied.

“No, we’ll still take yours—but not at five hundred. One hundred.”

“Four.”

“Two.”

“ _Four._ ”

“Two and a quarter, plus labor from every able-bodied member of the company.” Soren leaned back smirking like a cat. “That’s more than fair, and you know it.”

Nasir stared at him long and hard before he nodded and began to write figures on his notepad. Ike leaned over to Soren.

“You’re ruthless,” he murmured appreciatively.

“I’m _efficient,_ ” Soren replied just as quietly. “If our new recruits wish to remain in the company, then they can pull their weight. I’m not about to waste money when it doesn’t need wasting.”

“Still—I’m glad _you’re_ the one managing our funds.”

“Why are we whispering?” asked Mist.

“If that is all you have for me,” Nasir said, sliding his untouched mug to Ranulf, “I’ll take my leave. My ship is penultimate in the harbor and flies the Begnion Theocracy’s flag. You have two days to bring your requisite supplies aboard, and then I sail at noon on the third day, with or without all parties present.”

He tried to stand, but Ranulf was blocking his way out of the booth. Ranulf pretended not to notice and took a long swig of the second milk steamer before letting Nasir out.

“Thank you,” Ike said before Nasir left. “Truly—we’d be in a very difficult position without your help.”

Nasir dipped his chin, said nothing, and was gone without a word. Ranulf stretched his legs out now that he had the booth to himself and sighed.

“You learn to love him,” he said.

“We’ll learn to _tolerate_ him,” Soren corrected. “And make sure he doesn’t have any ulterior motives. Volke is one thing, but I don’t like surrounding ourselves with people who only pledge allegiance to whoever has the most coin.”

“I think he’s nice,” Mist said.

“You think everyone’s nice,” Ike said.

“That’s not true! What about that lady with the fire lance? She was _mean_ , brother, she—!”

“Okay, okay, settle down,” Titania said, stepping from the booth to let them out. “Ranulf, thank you so much for helping us with this—we honestly can’t repay you enough.”

“Ah, consider it thanks from the King for Elincia’s safe travels,” Ranulf said, still lounging. “I’m only doing my part. You know, I think I’ll do a bit more reconnaissance around town—check out who has the best prices on things you may need for the voyage—before joining you back at camp.”

“Are you sure?” Titania leaned in and lowered her voice. “Maybe I should stay with you, just to be safe…”

“Be safe? From what?” Mist asked, finally free of the booth and standing on her feet. Her wet skirt had plastered itself to her backside, and she surreptitiously shook at the fabric to get it unstuck.

“She’s worried about leaving a laguz alone in a beorc town,” Ranulf said quietly, lips barely parting around his mug to speak. He drank up the last of Nasir’s mug and set it down beside his own empty one. “But it’s quite all right—it’s drizzly out, so no one will look twice at a man with a hood over his head. I’m safer here than on a sunny day, quite honestly.”

Titania frowned, but apparently that was all Soren needed to dismiss the matter. He was halfway to the door before Ike realized his friend was gone, and with hurried goodbyes to Ranulf the three of them caught up to Soren on the street just outside the pub.

“Is it really okay to leave him alone in there?” Ike asked Titania as they started walking. “I thought Crimea and Gallia were on good terms.”

“Only through nobility,” Soren said, hands folded under his black cloak. “Most of the population doesn’t care for either race. Honestly, King Ramon might have been targeted by Daein _because_ he was on such good terms with Gallia.”

“Soren!” Titania chastised.

“It’s only logical. If I were a ruler trying to squash any efforts of unifying Tellius, I would target those who were making cross-cultural alliances.”

Mist hurried around them to walk next to Ike, keeping one hand in her pocket to hold on to her medallion. She ran her thumb across its metal ridges in a cyclical pattern to try and quell any thoughts of violence out of her head.

“Are you okay?” Ike asked her.

Mist nodded. She hummed a few bars of her mother’s song.

A wooden cart rumbled into view, laden with barrels of fish and drawn by two exhausted-looking donkeys. Ike corralled Mist to the side to let the cart pass, crinkling his nose at the smell. Mist bumped his arm with her head.

“I love you, brother,” she said.

Ike ruffled her hair affectionately. “I love you too, Mist,” he said.

“Is…everything okay? You’ve been acting so serious since… well…”

She trailed off; thinking about their father made her throat tighten like she was going to cry.

Ike took a beat to respond. If Mist wasn’t so close, she doubted she could have heard the edge of uncertainty in his voice.

“…Yep. I’m fine,” Ike said. “Let’s keep moving, alright? We’ll need to be ready to leave in three days. You can help Mordecai and Oscar gather beach plums when we get back to camp, how does that sound?”

The cart passed. They crossed the street.

Mist kept her hand on the medallion the whole walk back, tracing circles and wishing she knew how to make everything better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive been looking forward to the toha chapters for Weeks now aaaaa  
> thanks for reading!


	31. Chapter 31

The next day rained from dawn to dusk, and the day after was marked by bouts of sun and showers that turned the sandy road to Toha slick and muddy. But the third day—even an hour to noon, the sun was so bright that Ike had to shade his eyes with his hand whenever the street curved east.

Ike rolled his wrists as he and Elincia walked down one of the smaller residential streets of Toha, flanked by Soren, Titania, and Ranulf. Ike glanced over his shoulder at them. Ranulf was still wearing his cloak with the hood drawn up, even though it wasn’t raining. Ike forced down a tremor of worry in his chest.

 _By the time the sun’s passed its peak,_ he thought, _we’ll be on our way to Begnion._

He breathed out slowly, but every flicker of movement made him tense, expecting to see Daein uniforms ready to thwart their escape. Over the last two days, the company had filtered in small groups from camp to Toha to Nasir’s ship, ferrying supplies for the two-month journey to Begnion. Oscar had taken the horses last night, leaving Titania with the camping gear and hardly anything else to pack. Everyone else was on board. They just had to reach the ship.

Elincia had insisted on staying as long as she could to take in the sights, and, against his better judgment, Ike let her. She looked like she was finally regaining a bit of joy.

 _I’m glad one of us is,_ Ike thought, shoving away the bitter thought before it could fester.

“This town is something else, truly!” Elincia said, smiling at planters filled with beach roses and even pausing to smell them. She ran her hand underneath the petals and came away with dew on her fingertips.

Soren rolled his eyes; Ike caught him and quirked a single eyebrow. Soren waved a hand at him and pretended to listen to Titania talk about final expenses before they boarded.

Elincia led the way around a corner towards the denser part of town. They were still a fair walk from the harbor, but masts and rigging peered through the gaps in the rooftops everywhere Ike looked. The collective noise of people, pack animals, and seabirds buzzed uncomfortably in the back of his head.

“I’m so unfamiliar with the world outside my home villa,” Elincia said quietly. “Is it all so vibrant?”

“Most of the time,” Ike said. “But it depends where you go. The fields around our old fort tend to be quiet. It’s really peaceful.”

A loud bell rang out from the harbor. Ike winced, rubbing the side of his head.

“…But this place is livelier than most, I’ll give it that,” he said.

Elincia giggled. She reached for Ike’s arm and could only hold on to it for a few seconds before Ike carefully slipped out of her touch. Elincia pulled her hair back behind her ears and pretended nothing had happened.

They stopped beside a stall selling fried clams for a bite to eat and sat on a long bench, taking in the view of the winding cobblestone street. Ike worried a clam strip between his teeth and tried to filter out all the excess noise. Next to him, Soren was writing a list on a thin strip of parchment, shaking the pen to get the ink flowing.

Ike offered him a clam strip. Soren waved it away and kept writing.

“Soren, I’m sure we have everything,” Titania said, leaning over to peer at his list.

“What about my lord Ike?” Elincia asked. Ike gave her a queer look; Elincia blushed and explained, “You… you only have your immediate affects.”

“That’s because I don’t really need anything,” Ike said. “As long as I’ve got my cape, I can sleep just about anywhere, and food always turns up one way or another.”

“Self-sufficient to a fault!” Ranulf joked. “We’ll make a laguz out of you yet—you certainly eat enough for one!”

Ike looked down at the paper container that had held a handful of clam strips—and was now nothing more than spots of oil and crumbs. A laugh escaped his throat.

“I guess you’re right,” he said. He tossed the crumbs into the road and smiled when a flock of seagulls descended on the scraps. A dog ran barking into the flock just for the joy of chasing the birds, and a couple children chased the gulls along with it.

Elincia giggled, watching the antics. “Everyone seems so carefree,” she said. “It’s like all the death and horror we’ve seen is just a dream. Would that the peace in this town could spread all through Crimea…”

Ike tensed. His right wrist ached; he rolled it slowly, careful not to overstretch it when a pang of pain ran up his forearm. Over a week’s worth of rest and Rhys’s remedies had healed most of the damage from that night—as far as his sword wrist was concerned. It still aggravated him when he tried to lift too much, but he could hold a sword without much issue, and that’s what mattered.

“I don’t get it,” Ike said quietly. Titania and Elincia turned to look at him, and he could feel Ranulf’s eyes on the back of his head. “The people here are going about their business like nothing’s wrong. Why isn’t anyone talking about Daein? About the literal _war_ going on?”

“This part of Crimea’s fairly isolated,” Ranulf said. He was on Soren’s other side, one leg crossed lazily over the other, leaning against the wall behind the bench. “Daein’s army hasn’t come this far, so life carries on as usual. From what we know, Daein’s plan was to seize the capital—pardon, Princess—and then slowly expand its spheres of influence until it controls the whole area.”

“But they must have _some_ idea of what’s happening, right?”

“Ignorance is bliss, as they say,” Soren said, still writing away on his list. “These people don’t know what it’s like to be in a war, let alone lose one—Crimea has long been a peaceful nation, and border skirmishes with Daein only take place in the east.”

“Soren,” Titania warned, glancing at Elincia.

“When Daein finds this place,” Ike said, “they’ll destroy whatever peace exists here.” _Just like they destroyed the peace back home._ “They have Canteus. We saw them bringing prisoners through the Gallian border. It’s only a matter of time before they reach Toha, and yet everyone here acts like they don’t care!”

“It could be a collective coping mechanism,” Titania suggested. “Staying optimistic so their spirits aren’t crushed.”

“It’s a poor strategy,” Soren said. His bangs shielded his eyes from Ike’s view, but he could hear the strain in Soren’s voice. “Humans are shameless, selfish creatures that ignore any misfortune that doesn’t directly befall them. If it happens to their neighbor, they pretend it does not exist, even when the culprit is right in front of their noses. They will bow their heads and wear blinders until the very threat that slaughters their neighbors comes to their own doorstep and there is no one left to protect them.” He took a slow, heavy breath through his nose, pinching the paper in his hand. “When the Daein army shatters what selfish peace they cling to, maybe then they’ll realize their folly. They do not get my sympathy for acting like fools.”

“Soren—” Titania started.

Soren jabbed a mark onto his list and filed paper and pen away in his bag before he stood and walked off down the road. He was out of earshot in a matter of seconds.

Ranulf leaned back and whistled. “My goodness, the harsher the truth, the blunter he gets,” he said. Underneath his hood, Ranulf raised his eyebrows at Ike. “Quite a delightful staff officer you’ve got there, Ike.”

Ike bit his lip, keeping Soren’s black hair in view even as he walked further and further away.

“I…he, uhm,” Ike stammered, “he’s got a streak of severity in him, that’s true, but this? …Something’s bothering him. I wish I knew what.”

From his other side, Titania let out a long-suffering sigh.

“I’m sorry about him, Ranulf,” she said. “You as well, Princess. Soren’s a very empathetic young man; it’s likely that the emotions of this place overwhelmed him. Even I’m a bit shocked by this place.”

“It is all right,” Elincia said quietly, laying a hand on Titania’s shoulder. “I admit, the spirits of this town bother me, as well. Though, I would have phrased it less…”

“Tactlessly?”

“Well—yes.” Elincia blushed.

“Fatalism is by nature a disheartening beast,” Ranulf said lightly. “But optimism is its own curse. Trying to tread between the two…well, you’d have better luck trying to walk a tightrope made of fishing line.”

Ike drummed his fingers against his leg, craning his neck to make sure he didn’t lose Soren completely. A pair of locals wearing teal bandanas rode by on horseback, sizing up the passersby as if they owned the streets. Ike strained to find Soren again, catching a glimpse just before the boy disappeared around a corner. Ike stood up.

“I’m—I’ll go check on Soren,” he said. “I need some space, too. I’ll meet you at the ship.”

“Have fun,” Ranulf said, waving him along.

Ike found Soren in a small bookshop filled with paper and the scent of fresh leather. The clerk was busy wrapping a purchase for a customer, and Ike sidestepped them as best he could to get to the back corner where rows of leather journals were on display. Soren was checking the spine condition of a few volumes and testing the friction between the pages with his thumb.

Ike sidled over, keeping quiet.

“I suppose I should apologize,” Soren said after a bit, still testing the spines.

Ike shook his head, then realized Soren probably couldn’t see the gesture.

“Maybe to Elincia,” Ike said, “but not to me. I’ve noticed it too, especially over the last couple days when we’ve been sending people to the ship—no one here seems to _care_ that their country is occupied by Daein. It’s—it rubs me the wrong way.”

“Mm.”

“Are you alright?”

“I just needed someplace quiet,” Soren murmured. “Too many people.”

Ike nodded. He stayed quiet, looking over the embossed covers on some of the books.

“…I’ll be fine,” Soren said after a pause, “so don’t give me that concerned look.”

“What? I’m not—!”

Soren glanced at him slyly and shook his head. Ike blew a little raspberry through his lips.

“What are you looking at?” he asked.

“A new spellbook.” Soren held the pages open for Ike to see: cream-colored paper was bound together with green thread, and on each page was an identical sigil outlined by a circle of cursive writing. “It’s cheaper to get a blank book and fill the sigils yourself, but it takes time. I may as well find one that has basic elemental sigils already inscribed and augment them as I need.”

“You realize you can just buy a book at discount from the merchant twins, right?”

Soren shrugged. “I’ll have plenty of time to evaluate their wares when we’re stuck on a ship together for two months. I’m not in a rush.”

Ike snorted, shaking his head with a bit of a smile, and Soren glanced at him once in amusement before he resumed reading. Figuring it’d be a while, Ike wandered the cramped bookstore, wincing every time his hip bumped against a shelf or a stack of books. Now that the customer was gone, the clerk waved when Ike made his way around towards the counter.

“Ho, there, anything I can help you with?” the clerk asked.

“Oh—uh, no, I’m just waiting for my friend,” Ike said.

“And I don’t need assistance, thank you,” said Soren before the clerk could ask.

The clerk rubbed the back of his head and sat back onto the stool behind the counter. He was a well-built man with a thick beard and spectacles. Ike stood awkwardly resting his arms over the countertop.

“…Can I ask you something?” Ike said after a beat.

“Sure!” said the clerk, spreading his calloused hands wide. “Though I’ll say it now, we aren’t taking special orders at the moment; too many delays along the trade route to Arbor.”

“No, it’s not about books,” Ike said. He rubbed the back of his neck, checking behind him at the open door before continuing. “What do you think of Daein?”

He could see Soren perk up out of the corner of his eye, but Ike held the clerk’s gaze steady. The clerk rubbed his beard, chewing over his words like he was chewing tobacco.

“Me specifically? I ain’t got much of an opinion,” said the clerk.

“But you must have known they were coming,” Ike pressed. “Daein invaded Melior over a month ago; surely you would have heard the news by now. Didn’t anyone think to flee the country?”

The clerk leaned his head back and barked out a laugh. Soren set a single leatherback book on the counter and exact change on top of it; the clerk took it without breaking conversation.

“Flee the—you’re funny, y’know that?” the clerk said to Ike. “Toha’s home, and Crimea’s home, and just because some fancy-pants new ruler is sitting up in Melior, well, that doesn’t really affect us down here.”

“But Crimea _lost_ ,” Ike said, his voice like flint. “Daein won’t stop until they’re stationed in every corner of the country!”

The clerk shrugged. Soren took his new spellbook and slipped it into the belted holster he kept for books at his waist.

“The way I see it,” said the clerk, taking off his spectacles to clean them on his shirt, “it doesn’t matter who sits up there on the throne, because it doesn’t change our way of life down here. They’re all just faceless so-and-sos. If they tried to raise taxes, well, _then_ we’d complain something fierce, but otherwise… I mean, the Daein King is just another man, right? We keep working, he’ll keep living the high life, and he won’t treat us bad for keeping the status quo.”

“But—!”

“Now, _Gallia_ on the other hand, whoo! That there’s a different story,” the clerk continued, still cleaning his spectacles. “Those sub-humans, all hair and claws and teeth—eugh! There’d be hell to pay, I tell you what. If our country were overrun by some savage beasts, who knows what could happen? Now, my sister-in-law, she says she fought one of the damned things one time, and…”

Ike’s hands had curled into fists without him realizing. Soren tugged on his sleeve.

“Not worth it,” he muttered. He motioned at the door.

Leaving the clerk to his racist rambling, Ike and Soren met back out in the street. Ranulf was waiting at the end of the block for them, juggling an apple with his ankles.

“All set?” he asked. He caught the apple with a flourish and bit into it.

“Yeah, I think so,” Ike replied.

“Swell! Let’s head to the harbor, then—”

His sentence cut off with a hiss. Ike took one look towards the edge of the harbor and felt his blood chill.

A patrol of black-armored Daein soldiers were stationed along the street, forming a barricade. A small crowd had begun to form, mostly sailors and those dressed in simple working clothes.

“My schooner’s moored there!” someone was shouting. “I need to get along the coast before I lose my crab traps to some poacher!”

“No one is to enter or leave this port,” said one of the soldiers in a pinched voice. Raising her voice, she added, “Attention citizens! By order of General Mackoya, all points of entry to the town of Toha are now under Daein operation! We have received reports of Crimean army stragglers hiding in this town and intend to see them captured and hanged—present any information to a Daein officer and we will handle their persecution!”

Ike cursed under his breath. Soren tugged on his sleeve again and motioned him and Ranulf to the side, where they hid in the shadow from an overhanging roof.

“Well, that’s not good,” Ranulf said.

“Congratulations, you’ve won ‘understatement of the week’,” Soren said sarcastically.

“What’s our best option?” Ike asked.

Soren made a clicking sound with his tongue, inching out of cover just long enough to survey the barricade. He ducked back, pulling his hair behind his ears.

“We’ll need to double back and access the harbor from a different side street,” Soren said, “unless you want to cut your way through twelve soldiers?”

“No,” Ike said. “The less bloodshed, the better.”

Ranulf trotted into the street, turning his back on the barricade so he could scan the other side.

“There’s an alley that leads east,” he said, beckoning at Ike. “It ought to cut around the way you need—”

A woman bumped into him mid-sentence, sending both sprawling to the ground. The woman was the first to stand, dusting off her breeches.

“I’m so sorry,” she began, offering a hand.

“No, it’s my fault; I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Ranulf replied with a grin.

The woman froze. Ike’s eyes widened as he realized that Ranulf’s ears—his feline, triangular ears—were sticking out.

His hood had fallen. The woman screamed.

“Cat!” she shouted. “Sub-human—here, beast, someone help!”

Ike cursed again and darted out from cover, Soren on his heels, while the people in the street edged back shouting insults and curses at Ranulf. He was still sitting where he’d fallen, untransformed, looking as nonconfrontational as he could.

A rock struck Ranulf in the cheek.

Ike whirled around, trying to see who’d thrown it, but the people milling in the street blended together into a mass of scowls and sneers, hatred and fury founded on nothing but hearsay and prejudice. Ike’s pulse pounded. From the harbor entrance the Daein barricade marched forward.

“Ike, we need to _leave_ ,” Soren said.

“I’m not letting Ranulf stand there and get killed! He isn’t doing anything to fight back!”

“If we stay here, we’ll be boxed in! Look!”

Ike swallowed nervously, glancing at both ends of the street. The alley Ranulf had mentioned was fifty feet away, but spectators were beginning to gather at the call of ‘beast’ and ‘monster’, and it was only a matter of time before they’d need to shove their way out through a throng of unarmed civilians.

Well, not unarmed. The more he looked the more Ike saw rocks in the hands of Crimeans.

“Get away from him!” Ike shouted. He heard Soren grumble, but when Ike stepped forward with his sword half-drawn from its scabbard he saw his friend step in turn right behind him.

One of the men in the crowd sneered at Ike. “The hell’s wrong with you?” he said. “No human protects a sub-human; they’re filth!”

“You—you hear how _ridiculous_ you sound, right?” Ike said.

“Crimeans have no business helping beasts! That’s what got ol’ Ramon killed!”

“Trust your own kind, ‘s what I say!” added another person in the crowd.

“Yeah, no fanged freaks in Crimea!”

Ike gritted his teeth. His hand was white-knuckled on the pommel of his sword, gripping tight enough to send a twinge of pain down his forearm.

 _I can’t_ believe _the level of bullheaded, simple-minded,_ obtuse _thinking that these people—!_

A Daein soldier suddenly burst through the crowd, spear leveled at Ranulf.

Ike moved on impulse. He’d drawn his own sword and lunged to block the blow—

—and before he could strike, a blur of gray stepped in ahead of him and parried the blow with a single hand.

Ike stopped short. A slender man in his early twenties had taken up a swordsman’s stance between Ranulf and the crowd; his split-tailed coat flapped in the wind along with his sleek steel-gray hair. He cast a look over his shoulder and offered a surprisingly sheepish smile.

“Sorry for cutting in,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind?”

“Who are you?” Ike said.

“Do you work for Daein?” Soren said a beat after.

“I’m on the side of the laguz, is that good enough?” the man replied smoothly. He swiped at one of the approaching Daein soldiers, scaring her back without actually crossing steel.

Ike’s brow shot up in surprise. _He uses the proper term,_ he thought. _In a town like this… well, that has to count for something._

“What’s your name?” he asked again.

“Zihark. Unaffiliated vigilante. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, mister…?”

“Ike. Commander of the Greil Mercenaries.”

Zihark flashed him a genial smile.

“Well met!” he said. “Sadly, there’s no time for more formal introductions—”

He leapt forward and parried a wave of lance thrusts before darting back to guard Ranulf. The crowd shuffled nervously, too wary to get close to them, but ever so slowly the soldiers began to press in.

Ranulf had picked himself up to a crouch, one knee still resting against the ground.

“Look at you, Ike!” he said with a grimace. A bruise was beginning to blossom on his cheek. “Making friends everywhere you go—not a bad style, but do you think you can use a bit of diplomacy on _those_ people before they make us into skewers for their pet lizards?”

He pointed towards the low-hanging clouds at the north edge of town. A surge of shadows with long necks and bat-like wings were bearing down towards Toha through the sky like birds of prey. The wind parted around them with every wingbeat, and sunlight glinted off their bristling pikes and armored plates.

“Wyvern riders,” Soren said lowly, backing up. “We _really_ need to go.”

“But—!” Ike protested.

“Get to the ship,” Ranulf said, leaning forward. He transformed in an instant, tail fluffed and bristling as he kneaded his paws against the cobblestone. “I’m more than fine. I won’t hurt any Crimeans—Gallia and Crimea are allies, and I won’t jeopardize that by harming these people, no matter what ill they bear me.”

“I’ll make sure nothing happens to him,” Zihark said over his shoulder. “Are there other laguz with you?”

“Two,” Ike said. “They’re on the ship we’re set to commandeer.”

“Then I swear on my honor I’ll see that ship leaves safely from the harbor.”

“The honor of a vigilante isn’t worth much,” Soren said, but Ike let the comment slide—they were wasting time, those wyverns would be upon the town any second now, and the longer they stood here the harder it would be to break loose unscathed.

“Get going!” Ranulf urged. “I’m gonna play a little game of cat and mouse with these fools… hope you’re fast, Zihark!”

Ranulf leapt forward and jumped over the heads of the nearest civilians, landing on a stack of barrels and toppling them when he leapt to the rooftop. Mackerel and cod spilled into the streets.

“There he goes!” shouted one of the soldiers.

“After him!”

Zihark whistled, twirling his blade to keep the remaining soldiers from following Ike and Soren as they ran for the alley. Ike took one look back at the crowd.

The street was a mess. Civilians shouted for sub-human blood, for someone to clear the fish, for local vigilantes, for arrests and justice and all manner of insubstantial concepts. The faces of that hate-filled crowd burned against Ike’s eyelids when he blinked.

_Keep going. Keep moving._

Head down, Ike ran with Soren until the alley walls surrounded them and drowned out the hateful voices with the sound of beating footsteps on stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buckle up!


	32. Chapter 32

This place was too much. It was all too much—the crowds, the voices, the bristling faces and words that had choked the air even before the Daein clamor started. People wandering in false security, babbling their selfish thoughts all over the place—

“—thank goodness _we_ weren’t touched—”

“—shame about King Ramon, but, what can you do…”

“—did to deserve it, frankly—”

“…think that’s bad, well, my son saw a sub-human on the road—”

“—can’t get my deliveries on time, what a week!”

The whole morning Soren had wanted to grab each oblivious fool by the shoulders and scream ‘ _how can you be so_ blind? _’_

But that would accomplish nothing. Just the release of petty anger.

So he held his tongue and bitterness, panting as he raced side by side with Ike through the cobblestone streets. Toha’s crowds parted like waves before them. Oyster sellers and fishmongers flung themselves out of the way; horses reared, donkeys brayed, and people fled to their homes or the nearest door they could lock. Glimpses of black armor loomed at the edges of each hopeful exit to the docks. People yelled, wyverns beat their batlike wings overhead—

It was starting to remind Soren too much of Melior.

Pulling his new spellbook from its sling, Soren kept his thumb between the cover and the first wind sigil inside, eyes darting from every shadow to every sudden crash in case he needed to cast at a moment’s notice. Everything was a threat. The call of a tern was the same as a shriek of human pain.

 _That cat better know what he’s doing,_ Soren thought as Ike led the way down another alley, intending to bisect the harbor at some point before the safe streets ran out. _I swear, I’m surrounded by bleeding hearts without any common sense—!_

Ike suddenly pulled him with an arm around the waist back against the wall. Soren started to protest, but Ike held a finger to his lips, pointing up.

A yellow-green wyvern was perched on the rooftop straight above them, small forelegs gripping a brick chimney while its muscular hind legs dug into the shingles. On its back was a Daein soldier with a flame-red ponytail sticking out from under her helm. Neither beast nor rider was looking their way, but the wyvern’s nostrils flared as it scented the air, and Soren could see its forked tongue flick in and out with each sweep of its narrow head.

They were too close. All they needed was a sudden noise and that wyvern would see them.

Ike’s grip loosened around Soren’s waist just enough for him to unfold his spellbook in the space between them. Their breaths were ragged, both their chests rising and falling close enough to touch. The wyvern’s claws scraped against the slate shingles above them.

Soren pointed from sigil to soldier. Ike shook his head. Soren furrowed his brow, Ike gestured back along the alley the way they’d come, Soren rolled his eyes and tapped the sigil again with his forefinger.

A loose shingle from the roof crashed two feet from where they were standing.

“What is it, gi—hey! Commander Haar!”

The soldier atop her wyvern had spotted them; the wyvern craned its long neck around the chimney and was staring down at Ike and Soren with its jaundiced eyes. Its jaw unhinged and it let out a horrible growl like wood blocks knocking together.

“ _Ezak!”_ Soren hissed.

The sigil beneath his finger flared to life, shredding the page, and he curled his hand around the green-tinged wind to fling it up at the roof. The chimney shattered.

Ike yanked Soren out of the way of falling bricks, leaving the wyvern to its wounds and the soldier to her shouting. They ran south, angling towards the harbor. By now the streets were so clear that they could sprint unhindered, outpacing the Daein soldiers by sheer perseverance.

“That… was stupid,” Ike said between breaths.

“You’re… welcome,” Soren said. His throat was dry, but he forced his lungs to keep working. “Wyverns… dangerous.”

Ike shook his head, too winded to properly reply, his headband plastered to his brow. The street curved towards the sea, and Soren’s throat ached when he inhaled the fresh salt air of the ocean. When they spilled out into the bluestone-lined harbor, Ike took a precious few seconds to let them catch their breath before the final leg of their sprint.

The open sea lay to the south, and there were easily twenty ships docked in the harbor in all manner of sizes—huge three-masted galleons, small fishing schooners, even a dingy yacht with the words ‘Ramon II’ hastily painted over to read ‘AshnRd I’. Toha’s streets ran back into town at regular intervals along the harbor like slats in a fence. It was a straight shot from the midpoint where they’d entered to Nasir’s ship at the very end.

Soren risked a glance behind them. A man in shinier armor than his peers was still stationed at the far end of the harbor where the barricade had first set up, shouting orders in a nasally voice that made Soren cringe.

“Do not let a single Crimean soldier escape!” the man hollered. “Sweep the town! Burn any ship that attempts to depart!”

 _As if we don’t have_ enough _to worry about!_ Soren thought, but a bolt of lightning over the sea made him jump, half a word of old tongue already on his lips.

“It’s okay,” Ike said breathlessly. He gestured limply towards the boats at the very end of the harbor. “One of ours.”

Soren squinted. He could barely see that far, but it looked like the rest of their company was antagonizing a small group of Daeins attempting to board. Their figures were impossible to differentiate at such a distance, but at least they were holding out until Ike and Soren got there.

 _So much for ‘we leave at noon’, Nasir,_ Soren griped. _We’ll be lucky if we leave at all at this rate…_

They ran. Soren forced his lungs to cooperate, to rely on the wind that he trained so hard to bend, refusing to slow down now that they were so close to escape. Ike’s red cloak flapped in Soren’s peripheral vision as he kept pace. The flatter bluestones that lined the harbor were slick with sea spray and crusted salt, littered with abandoned fishing nets and equipment.

“They’re over here!” shouted a sailor hiding on her boat. “Hey!”

Soren didn’t have the breath for a proper retort, but he hoped that that sailor could see the sour look on his face as he and Ike ran by.

Nasir’s ship was only two hundred yards away. One hundred.

Ike stopped.

Soren skidded to a halt the moment that familiar red cloak dropped out of sight. He whirled around and almost smacked himself in the face with his own ponytail.

“Ike!” he shouted. “Come on, we—!”

His throat closed. Anxiety sparked in his chest.

Ike was two paces away and had turned towards one of the intersecting streets. He was standing too straight, every muscle tense and quivering, eyes wide and trained on one spot in the middle distance.

Soren looked. And the rest of Toha fell away.

A tall figure in jet-black armor was walking towards them. He was midnight incarnate, ebony ringed with silver, a bloodred trail of fabric hanging from his shoulders and a gleam of deadly steel across his back. His steps were thunder on the empty cobbles of the street.

His helm was a mask. But Ike’s eyes never left it.

“It’s him,” Ike murmured. His shoulders rose and fell with rapid breaths. His hand went to the pommel of his sword.

Soren’s eyes darted between Ike and the Black Knight. Cold sweat soaked his back.

 _Oh, no,_ he thought. _No, no, no no no!_

And in an instant he was thrown back in memory to that night, that Ashera-forsaken night when he’d sat vigil with nothing but candlelight and a thunderstorm, with Ike too pale and bloody on the bed beside him, breath barely rising in his chest, limp and all too fragile for a fighter—

The Black Knight reached behind his shoulder. The draw of steel from its scabbard made every hair on Soren’s neck stand on end.

“We meet again, son of Gawain,” said the Black Knight. His pace was slow, the way a wolf approaches a broken-legged deer, but every step brought him closer to the mouth of the street against the harbor, closer to Ike, closer to blood on the steel on the stone on the flesh and broken bone—

Ike’s nostrils flared.

“Don’t,” Soren whispered.

If Ike heard, he made no notice. He drew his sword from its sheath.

Soren moved on instinct. He tore three pages in a fist from his spellbook and darted forward, a spell already in his voice. Wind whipped in from the harbor and shone sea-green around his robes; with a grunt Soren swung his arm up and sent the wind slicing into the nearest second-story building.

Wood and stone toppled into the street, smothering the Black Knight in a pile of mortar and dust.

The sound snapped Ike to his senses and he skittered back before the debris could hit him, too. His blue eyes were wide and wild, and he finally seemed to remember Soren was there.

“Soren!” he shouted. “What did you—”

“I am _not_ letting you die on that man’s blade!” Soren snapped.

The force of his voice made Ike step back. He struggled to speak for a moment.

“But—that—that was _him,_ Soren, he killed Father! He… he…!”

“And he nearly killed _you_ if memory serves!”

Soren’s hands curled into fists. Spots of blood dripped from the papercuts on his right hand. Ike’s eyes flitted to the blood and back to Soren’s eyes.

Shouts erupted from the far side of the harbor.

Soren gritted his teeth, ripped out another page, and sent a gust of green-glowing wind into the nearest building. Glass and wood erupted over the harbor and stalled the Daein soldiers on their tail.

Soren turned back to face Ike and closed the distance until they were half a foot apart. Ike hadn’t moved from the mouth of the street and the dust cloud hiding the Black Knight. Seeing the desperation on his friend’s face, _hearing_ it in that voice made Soren’s chest ache—but he couldn’t afford to show it.

So he kept his chin up. Eyes hard as garnets. Cold as a staff officer needed to be to keep his commander alive.

 _If I have to shadow you for the rest of my days to make sure you don’t come that close to death again,_ Soren thought, _then so be it._

Ike licked his lips, face so openly pained that Soren wasn’t sure if he’d scream or run headlong into that street just to dig the Black Knight up and have a proper fight. His sword trembled.

But he sheathed it.

Soren let out a shaky breath, his legs suddenly weak. He was close enough to see the sweat on Ike’s temples, the way they both were trembling from emotion unbridled and barely reined.

The debris rumbled. Soren barely had time to twist his head before an arc of white-gray magic cut through the pile of rubble and passed a breath between Soren and Ike’s faces.

Heart pounding, Soren reached for his bangs. His fingers pinched where the hair had been cut in a clean angle. Blood trailed from a narrow slice across Ike’s cheek.

“You are full of surprises,” the Black Knight said as he pulled himself from the mortar and broken wood. His armor was unscathed, and his voice was laced with cold amusement. “Any closer and your nose would have been cleaved from your face. You’re lucky that my hearing is not as accurate as my eyesight. Will you be so lucky next time?”

He raised his silver greatsword.

“Ike, _run!_ ” Soren shouted.

The two of them bolted as the Black Knight swung—and an arc of bright magic sliced clean into the stone where they’d been standing moments before. Soren didn’t look back once. Having Ike in his peripheral was the only thing that mattered right now—that, and ducking behind any cover they put between them and the Black Knight. Barrels broke into splinters behind them as they ran.

 _Enchanted armor,_ Soren thought, tallying their enemy in bits and bursts as he pumped his legs towards Nasir’s ship. _Magic… somehow… greatsword, theoretically too large for… single-handed grip…_

Adrenaline made the world shake as Soren reached the ship, Ike so close behind that he tripped over Soren and sent them both tumbling onto the main deck.

“Finally,” Nasir said, staring down at them without offering a hand up. “Assuming you have no _additional_ passengers, might I suggest we send off before my ship gets torched?”

Ike said something to him, but Soren was too busy pulling himself out from under Ike to pay much attention. When he finally got to his feet, the boat rocked underneath him; Soren’s legs wobbled and he grabbed onto the side of the boat for balance. Whoever Nasir had gotten to learn ship-rigging basics, they hadn’t yet gotten a sense of finesse, and the boat lurched as it slowly left the harbor. Kieran was throwing rocks at the Daein soldiers piling around the docks. From the crow’s nest, Ilyana was shooting bolts of thunder magic at approaching wyverns.

Soren whispered a small wind spell and let the sails fill. When he was sure he was out of range, he leaned his arms onto the railing and let out a heavy sigh.

Ike remained sitting on the deck nearby, hands shaking. Mist was on her knees beside him.

“…such an idiot!” she was saying, choking back tears.

“Mist…”

“I saw you! That knight, he—brother, you could have been _killed_ , we saw the whole thing from the crow’s nest—!”

Ike took one of Mist’s hands and squeezed. Mist sniffed, rubbing her nose with the back of her other hand.

“Mist, I’m sorry,” Ike said quietly. “You really were frightened…”

“Whatever,” Mist mumbled.

“Not ‘whatever’. I’m… Mist, I’m so sorry for scaring you like that. I’m so, so sorry…”

Ike pulled Mist in and hugged her tight around the shoulders. He glanced up at Soren, trying to say more in one look than he could in words.

 _I was being impulsive again._ _I wasn’t thinking straight._

_If you hadn't been there..._

_I'm sorry._

Soren nodded once, deeply, and Ike turned back to his sister. When she’d had enough of the hug, he released her, and she scampered out of sight. Ike sighed. Soren watched him run his hands through his bangs and untie the cloth around his head to dab at the cut on his cheek, letting his hair be tousled by the wind.

Zihark came by to check on the scene, shielding his eyes as he scanned the slowly-receding harbor.

“Where’s Ranulf?” Ike asked him.

“Watching our backs,” said Zihark. “That’s what he said, anyway. Don’t worry, he didn’t get a single scratch on him the whole time we were causing trouble. I can’t say the same for some of those soldiers—or the so-called ‘Toha Vigilantes’ I was pretending to ally with.”

Ike nodded. Zihark went back to the other side of the ship to strike up a conversation with Lethe of all people. Soren watched him as long as he could be bothered to just to make sure no one was getting into a fight, but Zihark seemed more than happy to just…chat.

 _Weird. I’ll budget for you later,_ Soren thought. _I need… ledgers for that._

Toha was mercifully two miles away now, and no other Daeins were being sent out in pursuit—especially after seeing the lightning Ilyana could cast at their wyverns. Soren let himself have a moment of pride. They’d managed to sneak twenty-odd people _and_ horses _and_ escape Daein occupation without a single casualty. That alone had to count for something.

But there was still a vice around his heart, like something had squeezed it and hadn’t yet let go. On a whim, Soren looked back at the harbor.

His blood chilled.

The Black Knight stood upon the docks. His cape was a banner of blood in the wind and he stood, unmoving, like a monument hewn from metal. Even as the town’s shapes were blending together, his silhouette was as obvious as a gorged tick on pale skin. There was no way of knowing, no way to see into that pitch-black helm and the shadows underneath it, but Soren felt his skin crawl just the same.

The knight was watching him.

And he had committed Soren’s face to memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i was better at drawing people i would draw that BK scene in a heartbeat but sadly im just a dumb fox  
> hi jill, bye jill, see you in.... 20 written chapters probably
> 
> thanks for reading!!


	33. Chapter 33

Ranulf leaped from rooftop to rooftop and gutter to gutter as he finally lost the last Daein soldier on his tail. Zihark had left him half a minute ago, intending to reach Nasir’s ship to offer his services, and Ranulf had easily led the hapless Daeins around and around until they were no more nuisance than flies. Even the Crimeans who’d been all too eager to throw stones at him for being laguz had fled the streets. Toha, normally so lively, was deserted.

Ranulf landed on the broken roof frame of a half-destroyed building, eyes trained on the harbor. Nasir’s ship was slipping away from the docks—not as quickly as Ranulf would have liked to see, but at least in one piece and not actively on fire.

 _That’s a plus,_ Ranulf thought dryly.

The wyvern riders were another story. The patrol was cluttering the airspace above the ships in the docks and took turns diving at Nasir’s ship, only to have their wings singed from thunderbolt spells. One of the beasts got its wings tangled in the rigging on a large galleon and shrieked for help.

Someone whistled from the far edge of town. The wyvern riders yanked on their reins and steered their mounts away from the water.

Ranulf pressed his belly flat against the frame beneath him, hiding under the remaining eaves until the wyverns passed. As soon as he counted the last one, he poked his feline head out and scrunched up his muzzle.

“Good riddance,” he said. “At least _our_ dragons have a bit more sense about them, but not by much…”

Now that the skies were clear—save the tangled wyvern, but it wasn’t going anywhere—Ranulf leaped down through the layers of rubble until he reached the street below. A heap of wood and stone lay across the width of the street, covered with sawdust and broken glass. Ranulf picked his way carefully around the broken pieces, wincing whenever a piece of glass nicked his paw pads. He trotted to the docks—

—and there he was, black armor hung with red, just the way he’d appeared in that old fort not two weeks ago when Greil was still alive.

The knight was walking slowly towards the dock where Nasir’s ship had been moored. His silver greatsword hung easily in his hand, and, while his pace was slow, his helm was turned towards the still-retreating ship, as if measuring the distance with each passing second.

Ranulf’s claws caught against a gouge in the cobblestones. The scar ran from the rubble in the street towards the ships, and again at regular intervals, angled towards the broken remains of crates and barrels from here to the far end of the harbor.

 _Like hell you’re getting in their way,_ Ranulf thought, tail lashing. Bunching his haunches, he sprang into a dead run, reaching the knight half a ship’s length from the water. He spun to a halt and slid his hindquarters along the slick bluestone to put himself between the knight and the dock. With the bulk of a schooner at his back, Ranulf bared his fangs.

“You’re not impeding that ship,” he hissed. “I won’t allow it.”

The streets were empty, but in the distance a clamor from the Daein soldiers was beginning to stir. Ranulf’s ear flicked towards the sound, but his eyes bored holes into that impassive black-and-silver helm.

The knight regarded him without emotion.

“…A sub-human warrior,” he said. “How quaint. I remember you. Leader of such a strong force that made Petrine’s so-called warriors quail. It would have been commendable were she not incapable of picking proper forces to command.”

Ranulf’s hackles rose. He’d been tending to Elincia at the time, but he’d heard plenty from Caineghis before accompanying Ike and his companions this far north. Greil’s killer, enigmatic and terrible.

The Black Knight. A man without identity whose only hallmark was fear.

“You murdered Sir Greil, didn’t you,” Ranulf said.

“Yes.”

“Care to tell me why?”

“I’ve no time for idle talk with one as low as you,” the Black Knight said. He turned as if to walk past Ranulf.

Ranulf growled and maneuvered to put himself in the knight’s path.

“You think me low?” he said. “I’m one of King Caineghis’s strongest warriors. Try my fangs and see how ‘low’ they taste!”

The Black Knight scoffed, the sound louder and somehow more abrasive from the echo in his helm.

“Your king’s strongest warrior? Truly?” he said. “Interesting. By measuring your strength, I ought to learn that of your king’s…very well. I’ll entertain you.”

“Hah! My king is not to be measured against the likes of me,” Ranulf said, flashing his canines dangerously. “He is far beyond my own ability.”

“All the better.”

The Black Knight raised his sword.

“Come,” he said.

Ranulf launched himself with a yowl. He feinted left and raked his claws across the Black Knight’s armored chest, kicking with his hind legs to dig into the metal and spin himself into the air. He landed on all fours and darted out of the way just as the Black Knight’s sword shattered the bluestone he’d been standing on into shards. As soon as Ranulf got his bearings, the glint of sunlight off of metal swung in his peripheral vision—the next thing Ranulf knew he was in the air and smacked against the side of the schooner. He scrambled for purchase on the rocky breakwater and hauled himself up, panting, blood oozing from a long gash in his flank.

The Black Knight’s armor shone unscathed. Ranulf gritted his teeth and charged again, feinting, scratching with every technique he’d trained, but no matter how deep he sunk his claws they never made a mark on that midnight armor. Again the bite of a sword cut into his side and flung him away. Ranulf crumpled against the shiplap side of a building. His sides heaved; sharp pains lanced across his chest with every breath. His vision swam.

“You fight impressively,” said the Black Knight. Slick blood trailed down the edge of his greatsword. His bulk blocked the view of the ships in the harbor. “However, you are no match for me.”

He raised his sword.

“That is quite enough,” said a soft voice by Ranulf’s head.

Ranulf forced himself to his paws as a slender man built like a shorebird walked in front of him, the hems of his robes trailing gently behind him in the briny breeze. He was dressed in long, clean cream-and-gold cloth trimmed with rich royal purple and garnet. Everything about his countenance claimed nobility.

The Black Knight lowered his sword.

 _He was with those prisoners Ike freed,_ Ranulf realized, finally placing the man’s face to a memory. _Sephiran, I think… said he was on a pilgrimage, that he had business in Toha… well, he certainly cleans up nicely. He looks damn well aristocratic._

Sephiran looked over his shoulder at Ranulf, his glass-green eyes intelligent and sad all at once.

“Please, rise,” he said, “and seek shelter. You’ve about twenty seconds before the soldiers spot you.”

“Are you mad?” Ranulf said, fur rising. “That man will—”

“This knight will not raise his hand to me…”

Sephiran quirked his head at the Black Knight.

“…isn’t that correct?”

To Ranulf’s astonishment, the Black Knight let his sword graze the bluestone. It was like watching a man surrender his will to a single word.

“Now, hurry!” Sephiran said to Ranulf. “Do you wish to become a trophy for a deranged hunter’s cabin? Go!”

Ranulf looked between the two—knight and civilian, black armor and aristocrat—and slipped carefully around Sephiran’s and the Black Knight’s side towards the breakwater. Neither made a move to stop him.

“I’ll give proper thanks when next we meet,” Ranulf said, meeting Sephiran’s steady gaze.

Sephiran nodded and waved him along. With a deft spring Ranulf leapt over the side and dashed for cover beneath the closest dock. He crouched against the barnacle-crusted stones of the breakwater, hiding in the humid shade. Thin cracks between the weathered planks were his only sightlines on the harbor above.

Sephiran was speaking in low tones to the Black Knight and the Daein general who’d now come down to this end of the harbor. Boots clanged along the stones above as other Daein soldiers approached, but no one took the time to look down. Ranulf strained to hear past the noise and the pulse of his own blood in his ears.

“…the meaning of this?” the general was shouting. “Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do with my own troops? That _privateer_ —”

“Is not your concern,” said Sephiran. “Listen to me, General Mackoya. You will withdraw your troops from this place. I will not allow you to pursue that ship.”

“Not allow me to—you—you can’t be serious! Our intelligence reports claimed that the Crimean soldiers harboring this so-called ‘princess’ were heading west, we find evidence in this town, and yet you tell me to retreat?” Mackoya’s temper boiled the longer he spoke; Ranulf had no doubt that if he glanced above the docks, the man would have a face as red as ripe tomatoes. “Who do you think you are? Certainly no Daein loyalist—”

“General Mackoya, withdraw your troops,” said the Black Knight. “This town was not scheduled for subjugation until three weeks hence. Return then and finish your duty.”

Ranulf heard the shift of steel, like the Black Knight was leaning just enough forward to impose his height into the equation.

“I will not repeat myself a third time,” he said. “Withdraw.”

“I—” the general stammered. “Of…of course, sir. Troops! Attention!”

Ranulf shook his head to clear it and almost slipped into the water. Every wave that lapped against the rocks soaked his fur with stinging salt.

 _…I don’t have time to linger, no matter how weird that whole exchange just was,_ he thought with a grimace. _I gotta get myself out of here before this lovely town catches the scent of fresh laguz blood…_

He risked another two seconds just to be sure the coast was clear before darting under the next dock, using every boat’s shadow and the cover he could find until he reached the beach and its stretch of dense forest on the outskirts of town.

It was a long, arduous hour later by the time Ranulf made it to the Greil Mercenaries’ old camp in the inlet downshore. Staying in cat form, he cleaned his wounds and licked his fur to as good a condition as he could get it, keeping out of sight under a thicket of beach heather. The sun was arcing towards the horizon, making the ocean shimmer like it was brushed with gold leaf.

 _Aw, how beautiful,_ Ranulf thought, looking over the water. _I’d love it more if every part of my body wasn’t hurting this much. Ah, well._

He laid his chin upon his paws and closed his eyes, allowing himself the briefest catnap. When he woke, the sun was nearly below the sea, and long shadows crossed the inlet and its small half-circle shore. Ranulf yawned, stretched his stiff limbs, and padded towards the water. He leaped onto the smooth surface of a granite boulder that jutted out of the shallows and lay down, pooling saltwater in one paw to gingerly apply it against his scabbed cuts.

The broad head of a black-furred lion emerged from behind his reflection.

Ranulf yowled and lost his footing, tumbling into the shallows with a splash. He hissed at the sudden saltwater in his wounds and sprinted out of the water like he’d stepped on hot coals. Shaking each leg out, Ranulf regarded Giffca’s towering lion form with disdain.

“Giffca!” he said. “A little warning next time?”

The lion blinked slowly at him. Caineghis’s shadow had a tendency to be, well, shadowy, but Ranulf still had trouble reconciling an animal that big making next to no noise in the woods. Giffca was as tall at the shoulders as a horse was at the chin, wide in the chest and thick in the legs like stony gabbro come to life. His fur was mottled black with a gray muzzle and paws, and his thick mane fell like carved obsidian around his shoulders. Inky black laguz stripes curled around his haunches and the toned muscle of his forelegs.

“The King told me to check up on you,” Giffca said, his speech slow and deliberate like the winding of a mountain stream.

“Aw, how kind of him.”

“Did a beorc give you those bruises?”

“Bruises?” Ranulf licked his injured flank and spat a bit of the blood onto the sand. “Sure, and the next time I break a bone I’ll say I just pulled a muscle. Yes, a beorc did this. The Black Knight.”

Giffca made no noise, but the corners of his muzzle twitched into a frown. Ranulf rolled his eyes.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said. “Nothing a bit of bed rest can’t fix.”

Giffca rose to his paws and padded close, forcing Ranulf to sit down by putting a single paw on his head. Ranulf let himself be checked over and prodded, grumbling whenever Giffca nudged a sore spot.

“Nothing appears broken,” Giffca evaluated. “Two ribs bruised but not cracked. Can you walk?”

“I can _run_ , Giffca, I’m not a kitten.”

Giffca shook his broad head and headed for the thick of the trees.

“Come,” he said. “We must hasten to the border.”

“Yeah, being caught in Crimea like this isn’t exactly ideal,” Ranulf said, following Giffca through the trees.

They made good time, even with Ranulf’s handicap. The daylight stretched as far as late spring could afford, and before long the forest was dense with shade. Beastial nightvision rendered everything in shades of monochrome and dark indigo, and the two cats traversed the night landscape with the skill and swiftness of their nature.

When Giffca stopped beside a tributary of the Silva River to drink, Ranulf finally broke their traveling silence.

“Why send you this far north?” he asked, licking water from his chops. “I thought I was coming back to Zarzi on my own. Must be serious if the king sent you into Crimea just to fetch me.”

“Plans changed,” Giffca replied. Water dripped in trails from his mane as he raised his head from the river. “There is talk of a Gathering.”

“A Gathering? Truly?”

Giffca launched himself into the river, forcing Ranulf to paddle after him in order to keep up. On the other bank Ranulf barely had time to shake the water from his fur before Giffca was off into the woods again.

“There hasn’t been a Gathering in decades, from what I hear,” Ranulf said. “To what do we owe the occasion?”

“Daein.”

“Well, duh, I meant anything more _specific_.”

Giffca growled at him through a disapproving frown. He took up the whole width of the trail they were loping along, leaving Ranulf to comment from the rear at whatever interval he could manage. On the plus side, all the bigger branches and brambles were pushed out of the way for him—and, on the downside, they all came smacking into his face whenever Giffca brushed them aside.

“I can’t imagine this is about favorable negotiations with beorc,” Ranulf said, sidestepping a pricker bush. “Our ministers are as obstinate as ever about that, let alone when they find out what that knight did to me…”

“It cannot be helped,” Giffca said. “Every one of the older retainers has memories of laguz subordination. Even the king. If Princess Elincia were not King Ramon’s daughter, I doubt he would have been willing to speak with her.”

Ranulf sighed. “Well, at least they’re safely at sea now. Not much we can do until they reach Begnion.”

“And our associate?”

“Safely on board without any issues.”

Giffca grunted his approval. They passed another few minutes in silence. Torches from a group of Daein soldiers stationed at a river crossing flickered uneasily in the distance between the trees; moving like wind through the leaves, Giffca and Ranulf wound their way around the camp and headed down a laguz road lined with thick ferns and brambles. Once they’d put a fair bit of distance between them and the Daein camp, Ranulf craned his neck around Giffca’s side to speak again.

“Do we know when this Gathering’s supposed to happen?” he asked.

“Not sure,” Giffca rumbled. His tufted tail brushed against Ranulf’s shoulder, reminding the cat to keep his distance. “One month, two months. Negotiations take time. No one wishes to risk a meeting place that could be compromised.”

“As long as it’s not in Phoenicis again,” Ranulf muttered. “The last time I was there, the Hawk King’s Eyes said he could see fish bones between all my teeth. Fish bones! I can hardly be blamed for gunk like that in my teeth when the only thing those birds _eat_ is full of floss picks!”

Giffca grumbled to himself in so low a register that Ranulf had to take a moment to really process what he was hearing.

“Hang on, did you just say _Goldoa?_ ” he exclaimed.

Giffca sighed so heavily that the leaves on the low-hanging branches rustled out of the way.

“It is _rumor_ and nothing but,” he said. “Our king believes that the situation with Daein requires the attention of all laguz royals regardless of political leaning. Goldoa takes neutrality seriously. It would be a fair meeting ground.”

Ranulf shook his head in wonder. He scampered up until he could walk at Giffca’s shoulder—or, rather, _under_ his shoulder, given Giffca’s massive height when he was transformed like this.

“What could those lizards possible get from this?” he asked. “I thought Dheginsea made it _very_ clear he didn’t want Gallia’s help when their prince went missing.”

Giffca flicked one of his ears and fixed Ranulf with a look he knew as ‘I don’t know, stop asking me about it before I make you the king’s new scratching post’.

Ranulf sighed and lowered his head. He dropped back behind Giffca, letting his smaller paws fold into the larger prints left by the king’s shadow. Even the feeling of smooth grass against Ranulf’s paw pads couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that had settled along his spine.

 _A Daein invasion… a Gathering in Goldoa… Ashera above, what is going_ on _in Tellius?_

***

“…I see. That is… unfortunate.”

The throne room was cloistered in shadow, lit only by candelabras stationed around the far walls and an iron chandelier in the ceiling. The curtains had been torn down and replaced with heavy red velvet that blocked out all light. The old furniture was tinder in the castle’s many hearths. Even the throne, a gilded chair with legs carved into lilies, had had its jewels removed and thrown into the castle gardens. The place was a wreck of austere shadow and stone.

Just the way King Ashnard liked it.

He leaned back on his throne, drumming his fingers on the armrest. The Black Knight stood silently before him, arms at his sides, not a breeze to rustle that red cape of his. Dim light from around the room burned gently against the unblemished curves of his armor.

“The Prime Minister of Begnion…what a nuisance,” Ashnard said. He reached to the table by his left and plucked a glass of cognac from it, downing it in a single gulp so the burn lingered in his throat. “I’ve half a mind to send you after him just to see the man dead.”

“He could prove useful. Another pawn in the game.”

“I’ve too many pawns already,” Ashnard grumbled. He set the glass on his knee, watching his prized warrior with a discerning eye. “Like our serpent. Is he aboard?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then let them swim as they please all the way to Begnion’s shores.” Ashnard smiled horribly, his teeth stained yellow in the candlelight. “The hindrance that was Gawain is dead. The medallion will soon reveal itself to me. I’ve no need for further allies—nor the threats from petty enemies. What was it the Prime Minister told you?”

“‘Overreaching ambition invites disaster’,” the Black Knight recited.

Ashnard waved a wide hand. Behind him, his pet growled as it sensing its master’s mood.

“Pretty words and nothing more,” Ashnard dismissed. “I’ll admit we must tread carefully if that bastard of a man is nosing around in our business, but it’s far from a concern. He gave no indication that he knows our plans?”

“None to my knowledge.”

“Then we may as well have fun while we wait. I want you to take charge of the invasion of Gallia. Be smart about it; you must not let them bring their full might to bear, you understand?”

“Yes, my lord,” said the Black Knight, bowing from the waist. “It shall be done.”

Chains dragged in the darkness behind the throne. From the corner of his eye, Ashnard saw a faint glow of firelight on black scales. A membranous wing, black tinged with red, stretched in the barest corner of candlelight.

“And bring me another horse,” he said. “My pet is hungry tonight.”

“As you command,” said the Black Knight.

Ashnard tilted his empty glass in the light, watching the last dregs of the amber liquor inside cling to the bottom rim. All other noise was lost. Ashnard watched the candle closest to him through his glass; the filtered light was waxy and wavering, easily snuffed by the simple pinch of a finger.

And it flickered in the darkness, slowly, burning the wick to char.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 33 chapters, 100k words, and part one is DONE! holy shit this took off way more than i thought when i started this in january... thank y'all for reading and leaving kudos and nice comments omg
> 
> the whole fic is gonna stay in this document-- i've got 5 parts planned-- so uh, idk..... make sure you have it bookmarked or subbed? it's gonna be a long ride lmao
> 
> might be a little bit longer between this chap and the next bc i gotta consult my big spreadsheet of supports/base convos and do some outlining. 
> 
> take care of yourselves! stay safe!!


	34. PART TWO - TRUST - Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: anxiety attack

Night had fallen, rain was pouring, and Ike was alone.

He pushed aside the overhanging branches, scattering raindrops against his skin. In the distance the sound of clashing metal mixed with great peals of thunder. Each strike shook Ike’s spine and made his breath hitch in his throat.

The trail underfoot was a mire; mud clung to Ike’s boots as he walked, but he forced himself to keep moving, because Father was in trouble and Ike was the only one who knew he was in danger, he had to warn him, had to _stop_ him before it was too late—

Tree roots wrapped around his ankles. Ike drew his sword from its scabbard and hacked at them until they retreated. The branches of the towering silver-leaved trees whispered in open conspiracy as shadows lengthened over the trail.

“…only half his father’s son…”

“…can’t possibly measure up…”

“…will only seed failure…”

“…green recruit…”

“I’m not—!” Ike shouted at them, his own voice faltering amid the growing storm. Rain pelted against his face and soaked his old blue-and-gold tunic until it clung to him like a weight of stone. He rubbed his eyes, clearing them of the stinging rain, only to find the forest had shifted around him and stranded him even further in the Sea of Trees. Wind howled mournfully through the trees.

Ike stumbled through a pricker bush and into a clearing. The full moon shone through a gap in the stormclouds, shone against the Black Knight and his blood-stained sword, shone against Greil as he knelt with a gaping slash in his chest and a slack jaw. He looked at his only son with a brow arced in pity and disappointment.

“ _Father!”_ Ike screamed. He tried to run to Greil’s side but his legs were wrapped with tree roots and mud, his own sword nothing but a bare hilt in his hands without a blade. A raw cry of anguish ripped itself from Ike’s throat.

“You are too late, son of Gawain,” the Black Knight said. The silver trim on his plate armor gleamed like the raw edges of a blade. Blood ran down the fuller of his greatsword and pooled at the knight’s feet. “You are powerless to stop me. I will take everything you love and break it to pieces.”

Ike gasped and clutched his chest; some dim part of his memory said he was fine, that he was overreacting to something that wasn’t real, but he could feel the wound across his chest burn as if it was fresh all over again. His hand came away bloody. His chest felt tight.

The Black Knight turned towards him—

—and he was suddenly there in the harbor like some kind of cruel omen, sword raised to the heavens ready to strike, but this time Soren wasn’t by Ike’s side about to level half the building—Ike was alone, the sea at his back and a sea of black armor on either side, rooted in place by mortar and terror. The Black Knight’s silver greatsword swung down in an arc too fast and too slow all at once, and Ike saw his own wide blue eyes reflected back at him—

Ike sat up with a jolt and accidentally slammed his knee against the wooden siding of his cabin. The cramped room was nearly pitch black, but there was just enough light from the porthole to see the shape of the door and the wood-and-iron frame of the narrow ship bunk mounted against the wall.

Cold sweat drenched his back. His scar was a line of fire across his chest. His wrist throbbed.

“Ike?” came a drowsy voice from the bunk below him.

Ike ran a shaky hand through his hair. His chest was still tight even though he’d woken up, still clawing for breath even though the danger had passed.

_I can’t—Father—I’m not—I—_

He had to get out, get air, do something to break the racing thoughts that threatened to drag him under. Ike untangled himself from his sheets and swung his legs over the side, hopping off the top bunk and staggering towards the door. He fumbled for the notch in the door and slid it aside, stumbled to the stairs, out onto the deck, braced himself against the sudden sway of the boat as a wave struck it on the port side.

The night was cloudless and dry, void of ample moonlight but flush with stars. Ike made his way to the center of the boat and stood against the railing, leaning his head into the spray. He gripped the railing until his knuckles popped.

_This shouldn’t be happening—I’ve been busy enough to keep my mind off it,_ he thought, his breaths rapid and shallow and filled with the taste of brine. _I can’t afford to slip up, I need to look after everyone, they’re counting on me and I can’t let them down—!_

He didn’t even realize someone was there until he felt a small hand against his upper back.

“Ike. You’re okay. Take slow breaths and listen to my voice.”

Ike licked his lips and nodded wordlessly. Soren was a shadow at his side, almost invisible against the darkness of the ship were it not for the faint light of the stars overhead.

“We’re on a ship commandeered by a man named Nasir bound for the Begnion Theocracy,” Soren said quietly, softening the edges of his voice as he slipped into an analytical cadence. “We departed Toha, Crimea fourteen and a quarter hours ago. There is no immediate danger. Our current contract is to escort Princess Elincia of Crimea to the Apostle of Begnion to petition for political favor. The current wind direction is south-southwest. The moon is one day from new…”

Ike took slow, stabilizing breaths, focusing his attention on Soren’s voice while he looked out at the stars. He could barely make out Soren’s silhouette beside him, but he could feel the faintest bit of body heat coming from Soren’s cold hand, the slightest push of fingertips against Ike’s back. Slowly, his grip on the railing went from white-knuckled to shaky to stable. His breathing relaxed. A shudder went through him as the vestiges of fear finally worked their way out of his system. Ike’s fingers were stiff from being outside so long, and yet, at his side, Soren was still talking as if he hadn’t stopped for breath.

“…seventy-two arrows for longbows, eighty-five for shortbows,” Soren was saying, “two-thirds fletched with turkey feathers and one-third with goose. Currently we have two steel polearms in need of repairs. Of the ten jars of polishing oil, five should be reserved for consumption once we pass the midway point of our voyage…”

Ike tilted his head to look over at Soren. He couldn’t read his friend’s face, but he could feel Soren’s eyes flicker over to him. Soren let the rest of his monologue drop.

“I’m okay now,” Ike said. “...Thanks.”

“Of course,” Soren replied. “You seemed…distressed.”

“Yeah, I…” Ike broke off and ran a hand through his hair. His bangs flopped against his forehead without a cloth to tie them back. “I had a bad dream.”

“What about?”

Ike sighed, slouching forward over the railing. Soren’s hand on his back tightened just enough to hook the back of Ike’s shirt. The ocean was an endless bleed of ink below them.

“My father,” Ike said after a pause. “The night he was murdered. First time since he died.”

He swallowed down a lump in his throat and rubbed his arm across his face. The salt spray was making his eyes water.

“I think I need to sit down,” he said.

“There are crates filled with ropes next to the near mast,” Soren said. “They won’t be comfortable, but they’re close.”

Ike was impressed Soren had remembered the crates were even there; the topography of the deck was still too dark for him to see even after his eyes had adjusted. Soren helped him over and they sat against the crates, listening to the creak and moan of the ship as it bobbed through the waves.

Ike only spoke after another five long minutes had gone by.

“It was my fault.”

He curled his legs up and looped his arms around them, resting his chin against his knees. He knew Soren was looking at him, but Ike didn’t move, didn’t take his eyes off the faint line of stars visible above the railing.

“I got Father killed. He and I walked alone down that trail that night. He told me to turn back. I disobeyed. And when I found him, he and the Black Knight were already fighting, and it looked like Father had the upper hand and then I broke his concentration and that’s when he—”

He took a slow, shaky breath, fingers digging into his legs. Dimly he was aware of Soren’s hand against his back. Now that there was nothing to see but the shroud of night and no presence other than Soren, all the words suddenly came spilling unbidden from his chest.

“That’s when the Black Knight stabbed him. He was gone by the time we reached the castle. That one blow was all because I distracted him. And the worst part is I can’t feel anything aside from this _pit_ in my chest—it’s been two weeks and I _still_ haven’t cried like Mist or Rhys, I can barely remember to _smile_ when someone expects it from me. And I’ve been working myself so hard the past two weeks because I thought—because I thought that if I did, I wouldn’t have to see him. If I kept myself focused on Elincia and getting to Toha and taking care of everyone else then maybe I would hurt less.”

“Ike…”

“I’m not strong enough, Soren.” Ike took another shallow breath. “I wanted to fight the Black Knight when we saw him in Toha, I wanted so _badly_ to make him pay for what he did to my family, and if you hadn’t stepped in I could have been killed just like Father. I would have made the same mistake twice.”

“Ike, you aren’t responsible for your father’s death,” Soren said. “I don’t think he could have…”

Ike could hear the hesitation in Soren’s voice, almost see in his mind’s eye the other biting his lip to hedge back the words before he said too much.

“Whatever you want to say, you can say it,” Ike said quietly. “You know I value your honesty.”

“Honesty and tact do not go hand in hand.”

“I can take it.”

“This isn’t the most… _reassuring_ thing to hear,” Soren said, “but…objectively? That fight between Greil and the Black Knight was doomed from the beginning.”

Ike quieted. Soren sighed under his breath and continued:

“Greil was a formidable warrior, we all know this, and in any other match he would have most likely succeeded.”

“Like when he faced that general with the fire lance,” Ike said.

“Yes, but that was a different circumstance,” Soren said. “Close quarters allowed Greil to press the advantage against General Petrine and keep her pinned so she couldn’t use her lance’s full range. Axes are powerful but slow. If he was using a sword to defend himself instead of Urvan, he may have survived that night, but…the Black Knight, whoever he is, has the aid of artificers. He vanished without a trace the first time we saw him—and that brief encounter in Toha was enough for me to gauge his armor is enchanted against lesser weaponry. And that greatsword—even Greil would have difficulty wielding such a heavy weapon single-handedly, let alone factor in the ranged magic the blade possesses. That man is simply more powerful than Greil was.”

Silence lapsed between them. Soren made a small aggravated noise in the back of his throat.

“What I’m trying to say is, you shouldn’t blame yourself for circumstances out of your control,” he said. “Even if Greil _was_ distracted by your reappearance in the clearing, you did not cause his death. You did not force him to fight the Black Knight, nor did you affect his choice of weaponry or armor that night. Whatever guilt you harbor, take it and _use_ it instead of letting it consume you. You want revenge? Train. Keep moving. _Get_ stronger so that the next time you see him, you can trounce him and do good by your father’s memory.”

The ship creaked. Ike let out a breath through his nose. The salt in the air was making his eyes water again.

_…He’s right,_ Ike thought, his head weary. _It doesn’t make me feel any less guilty, but…_

He closed his eyes. “I’ll make him proud,” he murmured.

“I know you will,” Soren replied just as quietly.

They sat in comfortable silence together until the chill in the air made Ike’s joints stiff. He never fully slept, but his head would slump against his knees whenever he managed to doze for a few minutes at a time. At one point, he felt Soren’s hand leave his back, heard the shuffle of cloth and the sudden rush of cool air against his side—

Without thinking, Ike reached for the space between them and caught Soren’s hand by the fingertips.

“Can you stay?” he asked.

For a moment, anxiety clawed at Ike’s chest again. _You idiot,_ he berated himself, _Soren barely gets any sleep as it is, and you’re asking him to hang out up here where it’s chilly and smells like seaweed? At well past two in the morning?_

And yet…

Soren sat back down. He shifted his shoulders to lend Ike a corner of the wool mantle he’d thrown on before coming above deck.

“Of course,” he said.

Ike smiled, even if he knew Soren couldn’t see it. He leaned his head back against the lip of the crate and stared up at the stars. Beside him, he felt Soren shift his posture until he could do the same. The two remained there, backs against the night, until dawn broke pale and golden over the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive been struggling with my own bout of depression and burnout but hey here we are it's part two, finally, after 2 weeks
> 
> thank you all sm for 100 kudos holy shit


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 35 chapters later here's that ikesoren c support you ordered

Sleeping against a crate, as it turned out, was just as uncomfortable as Soren thought it would be.

He wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep, only that he’d woken with his head on Ike’s shoulder and a sore tailbone. Dawn was gray and gold across the horizon and virtually cloudless, though the breeze coming off the side of the ship was enough to make Soren shiver underneath the wool mantle he’d brought abovedeck.

Ike was still clinging to a corner of it. Soren moved as gingerly as he could to retrieve the cloth and rise to a crouch on stiff knees. So far, no one had emerged from the cabins below, but that didn’t mean the deck was empty. Soren wanted to be out of sight before anyone could drag him into a conversation.

“I’ll be in our cabin if you’d like to go over itinerary and rations,” he murmured.

Ike made a small noise of protest and dragged a hand across his face.

“After lunch,” he said, voice still groggy with the vestiges of sleep. “I need to talk to everyone…make sure they’re all adjusting.”

_Of course you do,_ Soren thought, but he simply nodded and withdrew, giving Ike space to get up and stretch on his own. Ignoring the weight of lethargy pulling at his muscles Soren set his focus on the day ahead.

The rest of the morning went by in a blur. After pulling on proper dayclothes instead of his shift and leggings, Soren scoured the ship from top to bottom, making a list of locations and sleeping arrangements until he felt confident enough to recite any nuance at the drop of a pin. Weapons storage: starboard fore, bottom deck. Pantry: fore galley, middle deck. Horses: aft stalls, bottom deck, and very unhappy to be tied there. Greil’s old horse even tried to bite Soren’s hair as he left.

Skipping lunch, Soren returned to his and Ike’s cabin. It was a cramped space with a single iron-rimmed porthole for outside light and a wooden desk nailed to the floorboards underneath it. The two cots were stacked one above the other in an iron-and-wood frame that was also nailed down to keep it from sliding. Soren tugged the room’s only chair to the desk and began to organize his files.

He had a chart started on a two-page spread in a leather folio and was adding figures into the leftmost column when Ike came in, his hair a disheveled mess, yawning wide enough to split a log. He came over to the corner by the desk, sidestepping a pile of Soren’s books, and leaned against the bulkhead. Ike handed Soren a small bundle wrapped in cloth.

“What’s this?” Soren asked, not lifting his hand from the paper.

“You skipped a meal,” Ike said.

“And?”

“And I’m not letting you starve even if you claim it’s for rationing,” Ike said, setting the food on the corner of the desk. “Aimee bought these in Toha before we left; I wanted you to have one. It’s a cheese tart. They’re a little soft but they’re good, trust me.”

Soren grumbled, but he took the food anyway, unwrapping it to pick at the tart. The pastry flaked away at the slightest touch and left crumbs all over the cloth it was wrapped in.

“Speaking of food, I have estimated calculations for you,” Soren said, going straight to business. “Twenty-three total passengers means we’ll need to ration approximately two pounds of food per person per day for the first four weeks.”

“Yeah, about that,” Ike said. “Nasir suspects we may have taken on a rat when we were at port.”

“What makes him say that?”

“Apparently there’s food missing and clear marks that something’s gotten into it—he said he found crumbs all over the pantry and a ragged tear in one of the burlap sacks. It ate two whole loaves of bread in the one day we’ve been at sea.”

Soren pursed his lips and tapped his quill pen idly on the open pages. “That presents an issue if we don’t catch it… I didn’t see evidence of a nest while I was touring the boat. But assuming the vermin problem isn’t fixed and consumes an additional two pounds of food per day, adjusting for relative appetite changes…”

Soren started reciting figures and the adjusted calculations to compensate for food loss, but out of the corner of his eye he caught Ike stifling another jaw-splitting yawn. Soren set his pen down.

“Ike, are you even listening?” he asked.

“What? Yeah,” Ike said. He rubbed the heel of his hand against his eyes. “Yeah, I’m just…can you repeat what you just said anyway?”

“Mm,” Soren said. He leaned back in his chair. “You’re stressed.”

“Really? What gave it away?” Ike asked dryly.

“Your left eye twitches when you’re mentally taxed,” Soren replied without skipping a beat.

Ike blinked at him. “Wow. I was being kind of sarcastic, but… really?”

Soren nodded. Ike cracked a wry smile.

“Yeah? So, if my _left_ eye twitches when I’m stressed, what does it mean when my _right_ eye twitches?”

“Malnutrition caused by lack of iron,” Soren recited.

Ike crossed his arms over his chest and quirked an eyebrow down at Soren. “Alright, if you know my tells so well,” he said, “then what are my other idiot…syn…”

“Idiosyncrasies.”

“Yeah, those.”

“Well, for starters, you rub the back of your neck when you try to deflect a question,” Soren said, tallying on his fingers as he went. “Or when you’re nervous—most notably in social situations. You wear that cloth headband so often that you reach up to pick at it even when you’re not wearing it. You sneeze whenever you stare into the sun for too long. And your tolerance for spiced food goes beyond what most people would call ‘sane’.”

For a moment, Ike just stared at him, mouth slightly agape.

“Wow. You really _are_ observant,” he said.

“I have to be,” Soren replied with a shrug. “It’s just how I was trained.”

“But—Soren, you’re brilliant. I mean it.”

Soren snorted, shaking his head, but froze when his eyes met Ike’s. Ike was fixing him with so sober an expression that for a heart-stopping moment Soren worried he’d said too much, said the wrong thing, said something that merited a switch to the skin, but the only thing in Ike’s gaze was open admiration. Soren’s mouth went dry.

Ike’s left eye twitched again.

“Get some rest,” Soren said, breaking eye contact to bury himself in his work. “I can manage things for a few hours. We’ll resume after dinner.”

“Woah, hang on,” Ike said. “One, I never said I was taking a nap, and two, I’m awake enough to focus on re…por…”

A yawn cut him off mid-word. Soren rolled his eyes.

“Sleep,” Soren said, fixing Ike with a stern look. He gestured at the bottom bunk against the wall. “There’s a cot right there.”

“Soren, that’s _your_ bunk.”

“Yes, and I’m telling you to use it. Just because you _can_ sleep anywhere doesn’t mean you _should_.”

Ike rolled his eyes, but there was a lightness to his expression—whether from drowsiness or genuine amusement, Soren had no idea, but it beat the raw pain he’d seen on Ike’s face last night. There hadn’t been much light to see by, but Soren could still make out the crease on Ike’s brow, the pinch at the corners of his eyes, the way Ike’s fingers dug into the fabric of his sleeves like he could stem back his own emotions if he tried hard enough. It had hurt like a physical blow.

Ike grumbled something benign under his breath and tugged off his boots, curling up on the bottom bunk with his back towards the wall.

“You know, Soren,” he said, craning his head to see around the side of the bunk frame, “you’re not nearly as insensitive as other people say you are. Deep down, you’re just a big softie.”

“Excuse me?” Soren said.

“Oh, nothing,” Ike replied, tucking his head down against the pillow. “Wake me in an hour, okay?”

“No promises.”

Ike chuckled. Within a few minutes his breathing fell into an even cadence that matched the roll of the boat.

Soren ate about half the cheese tart before wrapping it back up in its cloth and setting it aside—it was too delicate to eat while writing and too sour of an aftertaste to tolerate without tea. The sun had angled around the other side of the ship and drowned the room in gentle midafternoon shade. A single seagull coasted on an air current and bobbed in and out of view through the porthole.

_You’re just a big softie._

_Maybe to you,_ Soren thought, scribbling out an incorrect figure and adding the proper one in the margin. Still, the comment nested in his brain and refused to be badgered back by more logical thoughts.

Barely, knowing no one could see, Soren’s lips twitched in the smallest of smiles.

A short knock came at the door.

Soren cast a glance at Ike—who had wrapped his arms around his cape like a blanket and was drooling against it—before quietly getting up to slide the door open by a crack.

Titania was standing outside in a cinched cream shirt over breeches, her long hair in a ponytail rather than its usual braid.

“Can I borrow you and Ike for a few minutes?” she asked.

“What for?”

“I wanted your advice with scheduling. It won’t take long, I just wanted to get your opinions.” She peered over Soren’s head. “Wait, is…is Ike asleep?”

“Yes.”

“Good; he could use the rest,” Titania said, more to herself than for Soren’s benefit.

Soren checked over his shoulder. Ike barely moved aside from the slow rise and fall of his shoulders. It wasn’t worth waking him for something as simple as scheduling.

“All right,” Soren said quietly. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He waited until Titania had left before gathering his folio from the desk and a spare inkwell and pen. Boisterous voices down the hall assailed him as soon as he’d slid the cabin door shut. Soren cringed.

He found Titania just down the narrow passageway in the ship’s main cabin—a long, flat-bottomed room that extended from port to starboard and was hung with finely woven tapestries and exotic objects mounted in shelves along the bulkheads. A long wooden table carved from interlocking pieces of walnut occupied most of the room, flanked by benches on either side with a carved chair at the far end for Nasir. Glass-covered portholes reinforced with iron dotted the two walls and let in a fair amount of gauzy sunshine, though someone had lit one of the hanging lanterns in the ceiling for a bit of extra light.

At the nearest end of the table with their heads bent over two stacks of cards were Oscar, Boyd, Kieran, and Rolf, making shifty-eyed expressions at one another while they placed bets between them. The merchant brothers were fine-tuning the binding on a leather book halfway down the table while their shopkeeper, Aimee, idly braided her long hair waiting for them to finish. Through a small doorway at the rear of the room Soren could just see the trail of Mist and Elincia’s skirts as they bustled around in the galley kitchen. Even Rhys was up here, reading a book despite looking pale enough to hurl at any moment. Not a trace of armor showed on anyone’s clothes—it was like walking into a civilian town at the height of lunch hour.

“Oscar!” Titania greeted, coming over to clap her friend on the shoulder. “I thought you’d be prepping dinner?”

“Mist and Elincia wanted to help instead,” Oscar replied, smiling as he put down a face card. Kieran groaned and slid Oscar a stack of silver coins. “They said they wanted to do something with the fresh currants from Toha before they go bad. Mist’s been getting better at chopping vegetables, I have to say.”

“I can cut an onion without crying!” came Mist’s watery voice from the galley kitchen. She sniffed loudly. “Uh—almost!”

“You’ll get the hang of it!” Titania called. Soren glowered.

“Great, good, glad everyone is getting along,” he said tetchily. “Titania, did you bring me out here to actually _discuss_ something, or was this all some elaborate ploy to get me to socialize?”

Titania chuckled. “Would you blame me if I said the latter?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, c’mon, kid, live a little!” said Kieran, flashing Soren a wide grin. His tunic was dyed as brightly as his red hair, and even though it was missing a button at the collar the symbol of Crimea’s Royal Knights was embroidered in clean gold thread at his breast. Kieran gestured behind him at the portholes. “We’re on the open seas! Daring! Adventure! Nothing but the wind in your hair and the horizon in your eye!”

“Kieran, you’ve never _been_ on a boat before now,” Oscar said.

“So? I’ve read _stories_ , man! _The Kilvas Crusaders_ , men who faced off against flocks of ravens with nary a bow between them! Or, or— _Fargus of the Seas_ , the tale of a lone pirate’s battle with the waves to return to his true Crimean love!”

_This is asinine,_ thought Soren.

Now that the round was over Kieran gathered the deck of cards and shuffled them without looking; two cards flew out of his hands and whacked Boyd in the arm.

“You ever play Dragon’s Gate?” Kieran asked. “Here, I’ll deal you and Dame Titania each a hand; we’re about to start another round.”

“I won ten whole gold pieces!” Rolf exclaimed.

“Because you’re a stinking _cheater_ ,” Boyd said. He reached an arm out to jostle Rolf, but his younger brother ducked underneath and poked Boyd in the armpit.

“Am not!” Rolf said. “I won fair and square!”

“Are too!”

“Am _not!_ ”

Titania shook her head, ignoring the siblings as best she could, and addressed Kieran instead. “I’m not a knight anymore, Kieran. No need for a title—just ‘Titania’ will suffice.”

“And I am not wasting my time on some foolish game when I could be doing something _productive_ ,” Soren snapped. He hoisted his folio and quill in his arms. “If you actually need me for something important, you can fetch me _then_.”

He turned on his heel before anyone could get a word in edgewise. Titania made no effort to hide her heavy sigh.

Soren only made it a few paces into the passageway when he felt Titania’s hand on his shoulder. He turned around and glared up at her like a cat disturbed from its nap.

“Well?” he said.

“Are you sure you don’t need time off?” Titania asked. “You’ve been pushing yourself as hard as Ike has ever since Greil…ever since his passing. Even Ike is taking a nap.”

“Only because I scolded him into it,” Soren said.

“Do I have to scold _you_ into taking the afternoon off, then?”

“No, because it won’t work. I am immune to your charms, O Deputy Commander.”

Titania snorted, halfway between irate and amused.

“Just think about it, alright?” she said. “We escaped Daein’s clutches once again and have nothing in our way between here and Begnion. No wyvern riders are in pursuit, the weather is calm, and we’ll have plenty of time to keep up on our training and physique over the next two months.”

“Nothing in our—you realize our course puts us through Kilvas _and_ Phoenicis waters, yes?” Soren said, voice edging on exasperation. “That any time we afford to slack off now will only slip into complacency later? We aren’t here for leisure, we’re here on a _job_.”

“We can afford to rest for _one day_ , Soren.”

“I can’t.”

Soren left Titania with one last glower as he turned away and retreated to his and Ike’s cabin. He slid the door shut carefully and latched it with a quiet _click_. Ike was still sound asleep, and Soren inched as quietly as he could around the other side of the cramped quarters to the single desk and chair to resume his work. The ship creaked; the inkwell on the desk started to slide dangerously close to one edge. Soren nudged it back with a finger.

_I don’t have time to ‘relax’_ , he thought, flipping open his folio to the chart he’d started earlier. _I need to keep everything operational so we don’t all_ drown _._ _The others might think this is a vacation, but I can’t let down my guard. I can’t afford to be complacent. I can’t be soft. The moment I do, everything Ike’s worked for will fall apart at the seams._

He looked over at Ike again, still sleeping on the bottom bunk, fingers twitching as he dreamed. He looked peaceful. Like the past two weeks had never happened.

Soren sighed, returned to his work, and lost himself among the ink and rigor.


	36. Chapter 36

Mist leaned over the railing and let the wind catch her hair like the sails of the ship. They’d been at sea for three days now, and while the rocky coast of Crimea dipped in and out of view to the east Mist was far more keen on watching the wheeling gulls overhead and the endless stretch of sky. It was midafternoon and balmy despite the breeze; summer would arrive within a few weeks, especially since they were sailing due south. Mist closed her eyes and breathed in the thick salt scent of the ocean.

“Careful,” Ike said beside her. “If you fall, I’ll have to leap overboard to save you. I might be the better swimmer but I’ll still be floundering if I have to carry you on my back.”

Mist blew a raspberry at him. “You wish,” she teased. “I’m a _way_ better swimmer than you—Father always said so, he called me his ‘little minnow’, remember?”

Ike cracked a smile at that, but it was short-lived—his face fell back to its neutral mask as he stared out at the rocky coast in the distance. The red cape he always wore at his shoulders was beginning to fray at the hem; Mist made a mental note to fix it the next time she was on laundry duty.

She tapped her fingers against the wooden railing. Her brother had lapsed back into the roughness of Commander, and while he was still Ike inside, trying to have a light conversation just didn’t seem to work as well as it used to. Even in Toha before they’d started ferrying people onto the ship, Ike had brushed off his own concerns and focused on anything tangible instead. He’d had dark circles under his eyes for the last three nights.

“Are you alright?” Mist asked quietly.

Ike rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding looking directly at her. Mist pouted.

“You’ve been acting weird ever since we left Toha,” she said.

“I’m just seasick.”

“Liar—you hardly get regular sick, and you look fine to me!” Mist sighed, brow knit with worry. “You can talk to me, you know,” she added in an undertone. “I’m your sister. You’ve been doing so much since Father died—I just want the chance to help you, too. If you’ll let me.”

Ike’s fingers tensed on the railing. At length he let out a long breath through his nose like a dog weary after a long day’s work.

“I haven’t meant to keep you at arm’s length,” he said. “It’s just been… difficult. I was talking with Soren about it the other day. I think part of my problem is I work too much.”

“Brother, _I_ could have told you that.”

Ike laughed dryly. “Okay, okay, I walked into that one. It’s just… seeing Father’s killer back in Toha, it brought back some thoughts I was trying to bury. I can kind of see why Father didn’t want me entering the field this early. It’s a lot. No one ever told me it would be this difficult to keep everyone together. To keep _myself_ together.”

Mist stepped a bit closer and leaned her head against Ike’s arm. For a moment they stood side by side just watching the water brush against the overlapping planks on the side of the ship.

“Father always said we were one big family,” Mist said.

“‘And if you don’t want to cause your family any grief, then live.’”

“Yeah, but that’s easier when you’ve got people to rely on, right? Our family’s only been getting bigger, so you don’t need to take on everything by yourself. And let us _help_ , you stubborn mule!”

“I’ll take ‘mule’ over ‘pup’,” Ike said, rolling his eyes. “I get that it was a term of endearment, but the way Father said it half the time it sounded more like an annoyance.”

Mist giggled. She nudged Ike with her shoulder. Ike ruffled her hair and brought her in for a side hug.

“I love you, brother,” Mist said.

“I love you, too, Mist. Thanks.”

“Hello, you two. Is everything alright?”

Mist turned; Nasir was headed their way, dressed in flowing robes of dyed muslin underneath his brown cloak. He’d kept the hood down, and his light turquoise hair spilled behind him in waves like the white crests of the ocean around them.

“Hey, Nasir,” Ike said. “Yeah, my sister and I were just talking. It’s a nice day out.”

“That it is,” Nasir replied.

The three of them stood facing the water, their backs to the deck and the captain’s cabin, watching the horizon.

“We should be able to see Gallia within a few days,” Nasir said. He gestured smoothly at the coastline, emulating the topography with a graceful finger. “The old growth forests are so dense you can view them from miles away—green hills that dip like so.”

“That should be nice,” Ike said. “I wonder if Lethe or Mordecai know more about any landmarks we might get to see?”

“It’s possible, though I’m afraid there isn’t much to see by water. I’ve sailed this stretch many a time; the most unique sights come once we pass the Goldoan border, though that will be at least four weeks into the trip…”

Mist tuned them out; she’d heard enough of their itinerary from Soren yesterday when he and Ike had held a company briefing over dinner. She glanced to the side and squinted. One of the boxes stacked against the side of Nasir’s cabin seemed to have grown an extra head of kale.

Nasir glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder. In an instant his eyes narrowed.

A shadow darted behind their backs.

“ _There_ you are, you little thief!” Nasir said.

Like an adder he grabbed a scrawny-looking boy by the scruff of his shirt and yanked him backwards, causing him to fumble and spill five breadrolls over the deck. The boy was dressed in unassuming shades of brown and green, but he wore a leather vest that had more than a few nicks, and Mist shivered seeing not one but two knives strapped to a belt at his hip.

“Let go of me!” the boy shouted.

“Nasir?” Ike asked. “What’s this about?”

“My apologies for not informing you sooner,” Nasir said, ignoring the young teenager squirming in his grasp, “but I’d suspected we’d taken on a stowaway back at Toha. I knew they wouldn’t show themself unless they thought us sufficiently distracted.”

Nasir gave the boy a warning shake.

“Why don’t you tell us your business and what you stole before I decide whether or not to throw you overboard?” he said. “There’s still coastline on our port side. You could reach land if you swam fast enough.”

The boy clamped his lips shut and glowered at the three of them. Mist sidestepped behind Ike, feeling uneasy at the intensity of those gold eyes.

“Let me try,” Ike said quietly to Nasir. He folded his arms and fixed the boy with a stony frown. “Kid, who are you and what are you doing on this ship?”

The boy narrowed his eyes so fiercely up at Ike that Mist wondered whether he could actually still see through his lashes. Ike sighed.

In a motion to swift to catch Ike grabbed the boy by the ear and twisted. The boy yelped and tried to shove Ike’s hand away, but Ike refused to move.

“Tell us what you’re doing here,” he repeated in a voice that begged no questions. “A name would be nice, too.”

Mist winced. Ike used to do that ear twist to Boyd whenever Boyd was picking on her—and once on Mist herself when they were younger and she was more of a pest. Still, she felt a pang of sympathy for the poor kid.

“Ike, don’t be mean,” Mist said. She tugged on Ike’s elbow. He let the boy go, but he still wore a weight to his frown.

“Ow! Ow, what the hell!” the boy complained, rubbing his ear.

“Start talking,” Ike said.

“I didn’t come on here to _steal_ , first of all—”

“Just valuable rations intended to feed my passengers,” Nasir commented under his breath. Ike held up a hand to stall him.

“What’s your name?” Ike asked.

“Sothe.”

“How old are you?” Mist said.

Sothe crossed his arms and glared at her, too, his eyes sharp as the knives at his hip. His dark green bangs fell across his forehead and brushed the bridge of his nose.

“Fourteen,” he said after a beat.

_Fourteen! And he’s_ still _got two inches on me!_ Mist thought indignantly. _Growth spurt, where are you?_

“Are you on your own?” Ike asked.

“I’m not—well, right _now_ I am, but that’s why I snuck on—I saw your flag and thought you were heading to Begnion,” Sothe said. “Will you stop _scowling_ at me like that?”

Ike quirked a brow at him. “…This is just my face,” he said. “I always look like this.”

_Not always,_ Mist thought. _Only since Father died._

She pinched the inside of her wrist.

“Keep talking,” Nasir said. He’d loosened his grip a touch, but his long fingers were still hooked into the back of Sothe’s shirt in case the boy tried to make a run for it.

“…I’m looking for someone,” Sothe admitted. “A girl with long silver hair. And an orange finch, it’s a type of songbird. I… their trail went cold in Toha, and I didn’t know where else to go, since Crimea’s a mess and no one in their right mind would try to hack their way through Gallia without a map.”

“Is it family?” Ike asked.

“What?”

“This girl you’re looking for—is she your family?”

Mist looked over at her brother—there was a sudden softness at the edge of his voice, so subtle it was barely audible, a crack at the edge of the mask.

Sothe scratched one of his arms self-consciously. “I mean, we aren’t related by blood,” he said, “but yeah, we are. She’s all I have.”

Ike was quiet for a minute; Nasir watched him in case he needed to haul Sothe one way or the other. Sothe had stopped squirming, but he still balanced on the balls of his feet and was glancing around for an easy way out.

“Nasir, my company will look after this boy,” Ike said. “We’ll take responsibility for him.”

“You will?” said Sothe.

“We are?” said Mist.

“Fine by me,” Nasir said, “but if we run short on rations, I now have a name and face to our rat, and I will take compensation from whoever’s coinpurse is on the line.”

He released Sothe and stepped gracefully away; Sothe hunched his shoulders and made an exaggerated show of tugging his shirt back in place.

“…I’ll have to go tell Soren we have a new recruit,” Ike said, “so we can add you into the chores schedule. You’re going to be put to work. I hope you’re prepared.”

“Sure,” Sothe said. He shrugged, eyeing the bread rolls he’d dropped—they’d rolled all the way to the base of the fore mast, where Mordecai was picking them up while shooing away seagulls. “I’ll do whatever you want—but I haven’t had breakfast yet, so can I get my bread back?”

“After you learn to tie rigging knots from Nephenee.”

Mist fidgeted. Now that Nasir was heading back around to his cabin and Ike was busy laying out ground rules with Sothe, there wasn’t much space in the conversation for her anymore.

“I’m going to check on the horses,” she said, and Ike gave her a brief nod without breaking his talk with Sothe. Mist slipped away and trailed her fingers along the bits of polished wood as she crossed the ship.

Nasir’s ship was a two-masted cog built from sturdy oak waxed and worn with brine and age. The two rectangular sails bowed in the wind as the boat made its way through the water, barely rocking from the gentle waves thanks to its wide hull. Sleek dark wood trim lined the railings and paneled the sides of the captain’s cabin on the main deck. For all its minimalism, the boat was a sturdy piece of work, and Mist admired all the little details whenever she noticed them.

She made her way through the main cabin downstairs, skirting the edges of conversations—Brom showing Elincia a smooth stone from a leather pouch, Rolf sorting a pile of seagull feathers with Muston, Mia talking about swords with a cornered Rhys just looking for a way out. Mist waved at them all as she passed.

Taking the steps two at a time Mist descended to the lowest deck and made her way to the very back of the ship where the stalls were. The animals had been smuggled on board through an opening in the hull that was sealed shut, and Mist caught herself eyeing it nervously as she passed, just in case she caught sight of any rogue puddles of water.

_I’m glad I’m not sleeping down here,_ she thought. _I feel bad for the folks who couldn’t get a spot upstairs and had to repurpose one of the storage cabins…must be cramped, plus you have the horses to deal with, too…_

The smell alone went from pleasantly briny to pure horse and hay as Mist reached the stern. Nasir didn’t trade in pack animals too much, so there were only six stalls built into the ship, and only three were occupied by the mercenaries’ mounts.

Titania’s white destrier had its ears back and was side-eying Greil’s horse, its neck arced back and teeth flashing beneath a curled lip. In the stall next to it was Oscar’s chestnut courser who’d pressed itself as far away from Titania’s horse as it could get, whickering nervously and pawing the floorboards. There was a space at the end for Casserole, Marcia’s pegasus, but Marcia took her out flying during the day and often only brought her around to sleep on the top deck rather than deal with the ladders and stalls.

Across from them was Greil’s former warhorse. It was enormous by comparison—easily five and a half feet at the withers and stockily built, with small scars on its shoulders and flank and a dusting of silver spots along its back. Its ears were flat against its head and it snapped its teeth at Titania’s horse, stretching the rope on its halter to try and bridge the gap between them. The poor beast had been reduced to a packhorse ever since Greil died, carrying the company’s extra weaponry and tarps, and whether it was pent-up frustration about that line of work or the fact that it was almost too big for the stall walls it was intentionally aggravating the other horses.

“Hey, hey, quit fighting!” Mist said as she came around. “I get that being on a boat isn’t where you want to be, but that doesn’t mean you can snap at each other! Shush!”

Once it recognized her scent, Greil’s horse tossed its head and shook its ashy forelock over its eyes, snorting furiously.

“You stop that,” Mist said. To her surprise, the animal stomped once more and then settled down, flicking its ears back and forth as if holding a mental debate with itself.

There were no portholes down here, so Mist lit a small iron lantern embedded in a support beam to see better. Picking her way slowly so as not to startle them Mist came over to Titania’s sturdy white destrier first. She reached up and stroked the horse’s long neck, curling her knuckles so she didn’t scratch the animal with her fingernails by mistake. The horse shivered and shifted its weight to lean into Mist’s hand. Mist giggled.

“All you want is a bit of love and attention,” she said, running her knuckles in small circles along the horse’s neck. “Isn’t that right? Well, you don’t need to fight with each other, because I’ll come down and visit you every day, how does that sound?”

The destrier whickered and shoved its curved head into Mist’s, brushing her forehead with its pink muzzle. Mist laughed and pet it obligingly—until Oscar’s courser butted her in the back impatiently. Mist turned in a circle and pulled her hair behind her ears.

“Alright, alright, you get some attention, too,” she said, “but don’t eat my hair, okay?”

The courser blew a long breath through its lips and lowered its long head over the stall door to let Mist get between its ears. Oscar’s horse was younger than the other two and built for speed first and foremost—long neck, slender legs, and solid chestnut save for a white sock on its hind leg and a snip mark above its nose.

“They don’t call you by your names too often, do they,” Mist said. “Titania and Oscar and even Father. I guess they think that you won’t really mind what you’re called, because you’re just a horse… but you’re a part of our family, too, which means you deserve to be treated like it.”

She lifted her hand and stepped back from the stall. Titania’s horse watched her with its earth-brown eyes expectantly, ears pricked forward. Oscar’s swung its head up and affectionately nibbled on the destrier’s pale mane.

“Well, I don’t think that’s right,” Mist said. “So from now on I’m gonna call you all by name so you feel important even if you’re cooped up down here. You’re Acorn,” she said, pointing to Oscar’s chestnut. “You’re Thistle,” she added to Titania’s white destrier. “And you’re Ember,” she said, coming over to scratch Greil’s horse on the cheek. It blew her hair back from her face and prodded her forehead with its muzzle.

Mist leaned up on tip-toes—the horse was so _tall,_ it was a wonder her father had been able to saddle and ride it and make it look so effortless—and pressed her forehead against the horse’s wide face. She hummed a few idle notes, the melody her mother’s memory instilled in her, and with a rumble the destrier stood still and let its ears droop.

“Mist? Is that you down there?”

Someone was coming down the ladder with heavy steps. Mist beamed once she caught sight of him down the passageway.

“Oscar!” she exclaimed. “We were _just_ talking about you!”

“Only good things, I hope,” Oscar replied, adjusting the load in his arms with a grunt. He was laden with two full buckets over each arm and a burlap sack balanced precariously against his chest.

Mist patted Ember on the neck and sidestepped around the horse’s broad head before rushing over to meet Oscar. Without waiting to be asked she took one of the buckets from him and made an exaggerated face when the weight of it forced her arms down.

“ _Oof_ ,” she said, “what do you have in here, rocks?”

“Fresh water for the animals; please don’t spill any,” Oscar said. He set down the remaining bucket of water and heavy burlap against a vertical beam next to the stalls. “I’m in charge of tending the horses for the rest of the day according to the schedule.”

“Oh, right, the _schedule_ ,” Mist said with disdain.

Oscar laughed. “You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s great being assigned the same chores for the next eight weeks,” Mist said flatly, walking back over to Ember to make sure the stallion didn’t start snapping again. “I’m so glad Soren set aside the time to micromanage everyone.”

“That’s what he does anyway,” Oscar said. He undid the laces of the burlap sack and started shoveling oats into feed bags for the horses. Catching the scent of food, all three animals perked up and craned their necks to get a better look. “Only this time he’s dealing with almost twice the normal amount of people _and_ doing it as the company’s official tactician—not just Greil’s consultant. It must be a lot of pressure.”

“That doesn’t mean he needs to saddle me with _lookout_ for five hours every morning! It’s way too windy in the crow’s nest; I feel like I’m going to fall every time I’m up there.”

“See if Rolf will trade with you—he’s been keen on training his observation skills lately.”

“I guess,” Mist sighed. She took one of the feedbags from Oscar and looped it up and over Ember’s ears. “Your horse’s name is Acorn now, by the way.”

“That’s a good name for him,” Oscar said with a smile, patting his courser on the neck. “I’ve had him for eight months and still haven’t been able to think of the right name. The guy who sold him to me just said his name was ‘Horse’.”

“Haha!”

“Are you going to stay and help me muck the stalls?”

Mist stuck her hands in her skirt pockets, avoiding looking Oscar in the eye. “I… well, I’m not really wearing the right clothes for it, and I’m supposed to help Rolf cut up vegetables later, so I better keep my hands clean…”

Oscar chuckled. “Don’t let your brother catch you slacking off, otherwise he’ll have Soren give you all the worst chores,” he warned.

“If he does, I’ll just pawn them off on the new kid,” Mist said. “I don’t mind mending clothes and making food—because I’m good at those things, and they help me relax. But sometimes I wish I had something more important to do. I just want to be useful in a way that makes a difference.”

Oscar hummed to himself and gave his horse a friendly scratch between the eyes.

“You’re helping all of us more than you might realize,” he said after a thoughtful pause. “Fighting isn’t the only thing a mercenary company does. There’s plenty of work behind the scenes that keeps everything running—and it’s just as important as the work the fighters do. You and Rolf and even the Princess, you all contribute in a very meaningful and real way.”

_But what if I don’t_ want _to keep doing background work?_ Mist thought as she made her way back towards the ladder. _What if I want to be out in the front with everyone else? Rhys taught me some basic healing remedies weeks ago, but I still haven’t had the chance to really practice._

She closed her hand around the medallion in her skirt pocket, running her thumb over its ridges in small circles. She glanced over her shoulder at the stalls.

Greil’s horse lifted its head above Oscar’s and neighed after her through its feedbag. Mist smiled and waved back.

_I’ll think of something_ , she thought.


	37. Chapter 37

By the end of their first week on the open sea, Elincia was starting to feel like she had the hang of sailing. She had rope burn as acutely as anyone else in the Greil Mercenaries, and while the blisters from tying rigging and shoving the tiller at Nasir’s direction hurt, the pain was nothing compared to the elation of feeling included. Even when Kieran tried to hoist her chores out from under her—or Nephenee and Brom’s quiet but gentle insistence that a princess ought not to get her hands dirty—Elincia refused and carried the weight herself. She’d swapped her silks for rugged muslin and cotton breeches and pulled her hair back into a ponytail with all the appearance of a true sailor.

Elincia sighed contently and stepped back from the section of deck she’d just finished washing. She rested the mop against the side of the ship and took a moment to appraise her handiwork. The wood shone like it was freshly stained, reflecting back the early morning sunlight as keenly as ice on a stream.

On the other side of the deck she could see Zihark training against Mia and Mordecai while Lethe jeered from the sidelines. Marcia was a distant speck in the sky atop her pegasus, flying from island to island that jutted out from the water. Elincia unwound a scarf from her waist and waved it up at her, hoping Marcia could see.

“Ah, Princess. You certainly work fast.”

Elincia smiled. “Nasir! A pleasant morning to you!” she said.

Nasir lifted a hand in greeting and came to stand beside her, cradling a steaming cup of tea in his other hand. A leather circlet framed the crown of his head, adorned with small bars of gold.

“What brings you out this early?” Elincia asked.

“I’m simply making the rounds,” Nasir said. He held his tea up and let the steam curl around his angular face. “I needed to adjust our course to account for the sand banks off the western coast of Gallia now that we’re approaching. Are you well? Not sick, I hope?”

“No, I’m quite well, thank you.”

“Excellent. Let me know if you need anything. Ranulf has paid me handsomely with money from the King of Gallia himself for your safe arrival to Begnion. It wouldn’t do well for anyone were I to deliver you seasick and woozy.”

They stood watching the training session across the deck. Mordecai was in his massive tiger form, bulky and broad-framed, and he had no qualms about butting his head and shoulders against Zihark and Mia to catch them off-balance. Mia laughed and somersaulted over Mordecai’s back, landing a _smack_ against his flank with her weapon. They were only using wooden swords, but Elincia winced at each blow.

“May I ask you something, my lord Nasir?” she said.

“I am no lord, but you may,” he replied.

“My…captain, then?”

Nasir’s lips twitched into a slight smile. “Calling me that every time you seek to address me may prove to be a mouthful, Princess,” he said. “My name is fine enough.”

“Ah, of course,” Elincia said, hoping to quell the embarrassed flush that threatened to color her cheeks. “I’m still adjusting to not addressing everyone I encounter by a title or formality. I admit it’s a difficult habit to break.”

“But not impossible. You don’t refer to Ike by any title.”

“Only because he rather insisted I don’t,” Elincia laughed. “He’s quite funny. He speaks so plainly, and yet with such wholeheartedness that it’s hard to fault him for it.”

She twined her fingers around the scarf she’d untied. Mist had given it to her—instead of cutting an old shirt to rags, Ike’s sister had altered part of it into a slender scarf, hemmed unevenly but nonetheless ruggedly beautiful.

“…You had a question?” Nasir said.

“Yes, I…” Elincia trailed off, watching Mordecai rear back onto his hind legs and swat at Mia. “May I ask why you’re so comfortable with laguz on board your ship?”

Nasir quirked an eyebrow at her but said nothing. Elincia rushed to fill the empty space:

“I mean it in no disrespectful way, only that… well, I heard what had happened in Toha the morning of our departure. How those folk bullied poor Ranulf and caused him harm. I had no idea there was such deep-rooted animosity in my own citizenry. I know not everyone is like that—you need only look at Ike and his companions to see it—but it was a shock. Apparently my own country is not as simple as I had dreamed.” She laughed humorlessly. “I assume Ike would not have done business with you were you the type to harbor resentment of that nature, and he did say Ranulf helped arrange our affairs, but forgive me for being curious.”

Nasir sipped his tea thoughtfully. Elincia watched his face out of the corner of her eye, and whether it was the angle of the light or her attempt at being subtle, she noticed a red-orange mark nestled in the space between his brows that almost seemed to fade as he drank.

“Your question is an honest one,” Nasir said after a while. “And I’ll answer it as such: aside from the obvious financial benefit of trading with laguz, I’m comfortable conducting such business because I _am_ laguz myself.”

Elincia cocked her head. “Truly? Pardon my insensitivity, but you seem so…”

“Beorcian?”

Nasir smirked; despite his casual tone, his eyes were sharp as the faceted gems on his rings. With his free hand he reached up and pulled the hair back from the side of his face. He’d been able to cleverly hide the tips of his ears underneath his thick wavy hair, but now Elincia could clearly see that they tapered into long, slender points like the edges of a ceremonial dagger.

“I’ve taken pains to hide the more morphologically obvious parts of my identity,” Nasir explained. “Blending in with beorc society has its own difficulties, but the benefits far outweigh the discomfort. I can suffer through eating vegetables and cooked meats if it means I can help facilitate cultural exchange.”

Elincia held a hand over her mouth, eyes gone wide. “You…you eat _raw meat?_ ” she said.

“Quite often. It has a delicious subtlety to its flavor that gets destroyed once fire touches it.”

He caught the squeamish look on Elincia’s face and dipped his chin to her respectfully.

“My apologies; I know you’re a vegetarian. I won’t speak of laguz diets if it upsets you.”

“Thank you,” Elincia said. “What, ah, manner of laguz are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“That information, Princess, I’m afraid I’ll have to keep from you,” Nasir said with a calculating look. “It wouldn’t do well for my business if my subrace was well known.”

“Of course.”

Across the deck, Lethe had substituted in for Mordecai, who was now lounging untransformed on a pile of coiled ropes. Zihark bobbed and weaved around Lethe’s swipes, but now that the cat was transformed she had both agility and muscle on her side. She kicked her hind legs off the railing and tackled Zihark, pinning him to the deck with her forepaws. After a heart-stopping second she walked across his chest and flicked her tail at Mia for the other girl to try.

Nasir blew across the surface of his mug to cool it; Elincia caught the scent of sweet anise and juniper wafting towards her.

“Your tea smells lovely,” she said. “What kind is it?”

“Another laguz trick,” Nasir replied after he’d taken a sip. “But this one I will tell you—this is a tea that suppresses a laguz’s morphological features over time. It’s part of why you can’t see any obvious signs aside from my ears. If I stopped taking this, after a few days you’d see laguz traits emerge once the magic wore off—sharper nails and teeth among other things.”

Nasir fixed her with a sharp eye.

“I must ask you to keep this knowledge among close council only,” he said.

“I won’t tell a soul,” Elincia said gravely.

“Thank you for your discretion. And while this chat has been lovely, I must continue my rounds.”

Nasir pulled his hair forward to cover his ears and started to walk past, but Elincia tapped him politely on the arm.

“Before you go,” she said, “I happen to enjoy afternoon tea, myself—perhaps we should make a habit to partake together? I would enjoy getting to know you better, my l— _captain_ Nasir.”

Nasir tilted his head to the side and considered her.

“You truly are a strange breed of noble,” he said.

“I was raised in the countryside outside the capital,” Elincia replied simply. “All manner of folk came through the villa and my estate. In my experience, I find that breaking bread with someone regardless of status is the best way to know them. Conversation flows easier over full stomachs—I thought King Caineghis said that in jest, but he has a point. Besides, I wish to understand my companions better, both future subjects and those from neighboring countries. What better setting for that than over warm tea and cakes?”

Her warm smile waned as she went on: “If I hope to take the throne and be a true representative to my people, I need to understand them. My father wished to form an alliance with Gallia, and I foolishly believed it extended to every peasant and farmer, every soldier and civilian, but that clearly was not the case. I want to reach a point where what happened in Toha does not befall any laguz in a beorc country ever again.”

“You and I have similar goals,” Nasir said. “Beorc and laguz cannot survive in isolation. If both races are to thrive, they must learn to coexist. I have spent many long years searching for a way to make that happen.” He tapped the side of his mug with a finger. “Very well. Not today, but come to my cabin tomorrow at three and we may break bread together.”

“Oh, excellent!” Elincia exclaimed, hand over her heart. “You know, we could invite everyone on board, one day after the other—have a rotation of faces and stories to share! If I tell Oscar, I’m certain he could conjure a menu of tasting cakes to sample…”

Nasir’s mild expression strained, but he bowed politely and made his exit, leaving Elincia and her mop under the open rays of the morning sun. By now, the sparring match across the deck had concluded, and Mia, Zihark, Lethe, and Mordecai were all laying sprawled on crates and barrels laughing and wringing the sweat from their clothes. Elincia smiled at them.

 _If wanting to understand the people around me makes me a strange noble,_ she thought with a chuckle, _then I’ll be the strangest noble ever to sit upon the throne of Crimea!_

She waved her scarf up at Marcia, finally caught the silhouette of a wave back, and set her eyes on the rising run.

***

The day stretched calm and temperate, dipping through shades of brilliant crimson and orange as the sun set over the horizon. Clouds gathered in the south, dull and gray, promising rain in the coming days. Purple-edged shadows cloaked the upper deck as twilight fell across the ship.

Titania pulled her hair over her shoulder and began to braid. She’d dragged a barrel over beside the door leading downstairs, and she could still hear muffled chatter through the floorboards as the rest of the company finished dinner. A particularly confident voice boomed something and was immediately chastised; bouts of laughter carried up and out into the twilight.

Titania’s fingers brushed through her thick red hair with years of practiced motions, splitting and plaiting and tugging just enough to keep the braid intact. She took a deep breath and leaned her head back to watch the emerging stars.

 _Are you out there, Greil?_ she thought. _You and Elena, keeping track of your children? Did Ashera welcome you into her tower?_

She closed her eyes before her emotions could overwhelm her. Greil was gone, there was nothing she could do about it, and it fell to her to look after Ike and Mist in his stead. To keep them out of trouble. To talk sense into her new commander if he let his recklessness get the better of him.

A loud clatter shook her to her senses. Nasir had lit a lantern outside his quarters at the fore and another above the door down here at the aft, yet the sound had come from the dimly lit midsection between the masts.

“Help!” squeaked a small voice.

Titania stood, tied her braid off, and crossed over to a pile of toppled barrels. She lifted one off with ease and put her arm around Rhys to lift him to his feet.

“Th-thank you,” Rhys stammered.

“You know not to walk around without a light,” Titania said, helping her friend over to the lantern-lit wall framing the door belowdecks. She sat him down on the barrel she’d been using and picked up the ones he’d knocked over, coming back once she’d secured the tripping hazard. “What are you doing up here, anyway? Are you still seasick?”

“Ah, a little,” Rhys said. He was pale by nature, but Titania frowned at the ghostly tint to his cheeks. His ginger hair was as bright as a fire by comparison. “I promise I’m doing better, though. I’m glad I thought to stock up on ginger root before we left. No, I wanted to watch the first stars—did you know that at this time of year at this particular latitude, you can see the constellation Elhaz between the horizon and the first twenty degrees?”

Titania shook her head, smiling warmly. Rhys took it as approval to go on, and he waxed poetic about Elhaz the Protector and all the intricacies of stargazing in late spring. As he talked, the color returned to his cheeks, but Titania kept an eye on a nearby bucket just in case she had to act fast.

“What brings you outside, Titania?” Rhys asked once he’d finished talking.

“I just wanted some time for myself.”

“Ah,” Rhys said, his face suddenly sober. “I can leave, if you want to be alone—”

“No, no, your company never bothers me,” Titania said, waving Rhys down before he could stand. “Remember when I was recovering from that skirmish when we first met a year and a half ago? You stayed by my bedside for three whole days just talking about your parents and your poetry collection, and I never once minded.”

Rhys laughed lightly, scratching the back of his head. His cheeks flushed.

“Yes, well, I had to do _something_ to keep you from leaving bed too soon!” he said. “If you had your way, you would have been back in action within hours, and no healer lets their patient leave their care until they’re sufficiently recovered.”

Titania chuckled. Rhys folded his hands in his lap, running his thumbs over one another.

“I don’t believe I properly thanked you for convincing Greil to hire me,” he added quietly.

“You did,” Titania said, rolling her eyes. “Many times over, in fact.”

“Oh! My apologies, then. But it bears repeating. I’m not sure where I’d be if I hadn’t been given the opportunity. Probably sickly at home, hah.”

Somewhere in the main cabin underneath them, a fiddle was being tuned. Rhys tilted his head to catch the muffled scales and leaned back against the wooden paneling of the ship, shoulder brushing against the door frame.

“By the way,” he asked, looking up at Titania, “you haven’t seen one of my healing staves, have you? It’s one of the smaller ones, about an arm’s length altogether, brass with a blue glass top?”

“No, I haven’t. Why? Has something happened?”

“Nothing urgent,” Rhys said. “I only noticed it was missing two days ago when I was cleaning the cabin I’d dedicated to medical treatment. I wasn’t aware anyone else in the company knew light magic, aside from Soren, perhaps…?”

“I don’t think Soren knows that breed of magic, and he wouldn’t have taken a staff from you without notice,” Titania said, furrowing her brow. “He and Ike are so stubborn that they’d let their own wounds fester rather than waste resources. I can tell Nasir and have the ship searched if you like.”

“As I said, it’s nothing urgent,” Rhys said. “I’m sure it will turn up.”

Titania nodded and adjusted her stance so she, too, could lean against the wood and listen to the faint sound of music. When she finally retired to her and Mist’s cabin for the evening, Titania caught a glance of pale white light coming from the crack above the door. Cautiously, she hooked her fingers into the handle and slid the door open.

“Oh! Hi, Titania!” Mist said, hurriedly shoving something under the blankets. She was on her top bunk and surrounded by a pile of woven blankets; most were bunched up behind her to act as a backrest, but there were so many lumps it was hard to see the underlying mattress even if Titania had the extra few inches of height to see above the bedframe.

“…Everything alright?” Titania asked as she latched the sliding door behind her.

“Yep!”

“I saw a light through the door—you know you’re not supposed to keep candles in bed to read, right?”

“I know,” said Mist. “You might’ve just seen the hanging lantern,” she added, pointing up at the iron-and-glass sconce suspended by a short but thick chain from the ceiling. It swayed slightly as the boat rocked, but not enough to cast any wild shadows about the cabin.

“Mm,” Titania said, unconvinced.

 _I won’t press her about it tonight,_ she thought as she settled in her lower bunk, _but if I see that odd light again…_

Well, she’d deal with it then. Titania pressed her cheek into the lumpy pillow and sighed, letting the scent of musty cloth and the gentle rock of the boat put her to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -gave some of ike's dialogue in map 12 to elincia bc i love her and want her to be a more active participant in the story  
> -i always thought it was bogus that dragon laguz didnt have wings or horns or a tail so im rectifying that when we get there  
> -beorc and laguz are actually nordic runes, and in that same schema "elhaz" is the rune for elk or yew tree and symbolizes protection
> 
> thanks for reading and your lovely comments i dont always reply to them but i read them and im so happy yall are enjoying this adaptation !


	38. Chapter 38

Sailing was all a matter of rhythm and practice, and, after two straight weeks of it, Ike liked to think he was getting the hang of things. Yet even with the shifting wind currents and the occasional bouts of rain, the broken weaponry and ship maintenance, the most challenging obstacle was the management of one personality-driven individual:

Aimee.

The merchant woman had been making moon-eyes at him ever since her rescue—she sang Ike's praises at every opportunity when he was within earshot about how _brave_ he and his mercenaries were, how they _fearlessly_ saved her and her companions from the _unjust_ and _rude_ Daein occupation soldiers, what a _courageous_ example he was.

The praise made Ike’s skin prickle. Being lauded for acting on common decency seemed a bit…much.

But Aimee insisted, and Ike found himself subconsciously avoiding her at every opportunity just so he wouldn’t have to hear about it. For a while it seemed to work. Campsites tended to be crowded and there was always the pressure of keeping a low profile to avoid detection; arranging the passage through Toha required small groups and stealth, and Aimee had been one of the first to board. Yet even on a decently-sized boat like this, there was only so much room to hide.

Ike was down in the hull talking with Jorge and Daniel about repairing an iron sword after breaking it against Titania’s plate armor. Jorge sat at a low table made from spare planks and spread out the sword pieces on one end, letting his brunet brother work on bookbinding at the other. Jorge picked up the metal shards with blacksmiths’ gloves and scrutinized the break.

“Yeaaah, we can fix this,” he said, “but not without a proper forge. Sorry about that.”

“Ah, alright,” Ike said. “Is there something I can use in the meantime?”

“We should have a couple similar blades in our inventory—we’ll have to dig ‘em up from their hiding place, though. Everything got packed up tight when we moved on board.”

“That’s fine. I’ll come back later.”

“Give us an hour or so—after lunch, eh?”

Ike nodded, turned to leave, and nearly walked into a tower of silks and wavy black hair.

“Commander _Ike!_ ” Aimee exclaimed, taking up the entire doorway out of the storeroom despite her slender frame. “What a pleasant surprise to see you here! What brings you to our _humble_ quarters?”

Ike scratched the back of his neck. “I, uh, just finished talking with Jorge. About a broken sword. Which you might have heard.”

“Oh! Ahah, of course, of course, business as usual with you, I see.”

Ike hadn’t even noticed her at first—the storeroom that the merchants had taken over on Nasir’s ship was all the way at the fore and took up the width of the boat, packed tightly with boxes and heavy sacks of materials and traded goods. Jars of spices were carefully cordoned off alongside fancy-looking vials and bottles; paper-wrapped books were stacked next to folded bolts of cloth; Muston had even set up a woodworking lathe between two large barrels full of bottled wine. The place was a mess of material and exotic scents that warred for attention at every second.

Ike’s nose crinkled; Aimee was a source of some of the strongest perfume in the room, a cross between sandalwood and something that made Ike want to sneeze.

“Might I trouble you with a… request?” Aimee said.

“Aimee,” Muston warned.

“Hush, I’ll only bother him for a minute,” Aimee retorted, waving her hand flippantly. Muston grumbled and leaned back over his lathe, turning a wooden bowl with his wide hands. Aimee batted her eyes up at Ike. “Now, I know you’re awfully busy, but I wanted to take a moment of your time and offer you my… services.”

Ike squashed the urge to throw himself into the sea.

“Ilyana vouched for you as a _merchant_ ,” he emphasized.

Aimee laughed a little too loudly, brushing the side of her flushed cheeks with her fingers. The scoop neckline on her teal-colored shirt slid down to expose her bare shoulder. She made a show of pulling it back up.

“Oh, what a wonderful girl Ilyana is,” Aimee said, “and, yes, I’m known for my haggling prowess throughout the Daein mercantile circles, but I am _also_ a rather astute fortune-teller. I can read your palm with the keenest gaze and tell your future! People come far and wide when our caravan enters town _just_ to have me read their palms, you know.”

“Here we go,” Jorge said, elbowing Daniel. His twin snickered.

Aimee spared them each a glare. The brothers shrugged her off and resumed their tasks, smirking at some inside joke.

“I’m, uh, kind of busy,” Ike said. He peeked over Aimee’s shoulder at the long passageway down the ship. Because they were so far forward, Ike could see the other storerooms’ doorways and the ladder that led to the middle deck above, yet there was no one in sight to make a quick excuse.

“Oh, I promise it won’t be a minute of your time,” Aimee said. Her sleeve slipped over her bare shoulder again. This time she left it there.

“Mist can mend that for you,” Ike said.

“I—pardon me?”

“Your shirt. The sleeve keeps falling down. Mist can help you alter it if you ask her.”

Behind him, Daniel burst out laughing. Jorge slapped him on the shoulder and shushed him, though he was having a hard time keeping quiet himself.

“Oh, how… generous of you to offer,” Aimee said through a strained smile. “But this is the latest fashion out of Nevassa.”

 _Weird,_ Ike thought. _And impractical. Why wear a shirt that keeps falling off?_

“But would you spare a moment of your commander-ly duties to let a beautiful woman see your fortune?” Aimee asked. “I won’t charge you. I’ll even tell your horoscope as an added bonus.”

 _…I’m not getting out of this, am I,_ Ike thought, glancing one last time at the woefully empty passageway. He bit down a heavy sigh. _At least I can try to be polite…_

“Alright,” he said, and the word had barely left his mouth before Aimee grabbed him by the arm and tugged him to a cramped setup in the center of the room. A dyed cloth covered the top of a barrel, weighed down by eight clear crystals and flanked with two heavy cushions. Aimee folded herself elegantly on one. Ike crouched on the other, tucking his feet under him in case he had to bolt.

“Now, give me your dominant hand,” Aimee said, reaching over the cloth.

Ike reluctantly put his right hand in hers. Aimee turned it over so his palm was facing up and leaned in, tracing small patterns along the creases in his skin. That sandalwood-something smell was so strong that Ike had to cough into his shoulder.

“Ooh, you’re an _earth_ sign!” Aimee said with barely-contained glee. Her eyes lit up.

“A what?”

“An earth sign, that’s your affinity, darling,” Aimee continued. “Everyone has one. It’s your horoscope, the sign you were born under that affects your personality and your life path!”

“Uh… sure,” Ike said, trying not to sound as unenthused as he felt. “I don’t mean to disrespect your, uh, hobby, but I don’t believe in otherworldly forces being able to dictate how you live your life. Your personality is shaped by how you grow. Your life is shaped by your own choices. No line on a hand is going to affect that.”

Aimee clucked her tongue and continued to prod Ike’s open palm with her painted nails. Ike winced.

“I’m a fire sign, you know,” Aimee went on, looking up at Ike through her thick lashes. “Fire and earth are _very_ compatible. Earth signs like you are known for their steady personalities and strong convictions… never backing down from a challenge even in the face of adversity…”

“Ahuh.”

“Your hand ratio… let’s see, this means you’re self-sufficient and believe in the value of hard work—ooh, me too!”

 _Really?_ Ike thought. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Daniel nearly doubled over with silent laughter.

Aimee seemed unperturbed, and she leaned her head even closer, letting her hair fall from her shoulders. Ike fidgeted. He finally caught the sound of approaching footsteps through the open doorway and let relief fill him.

“Ike? What are you doing down here?”

“Soren!” Ike said, turning so suddenly he got a crick in his neck. _Oh, am I glad to see you!_

Soren, still wearing his favorite black robe despite the climbing humidity, stood in the storeroom doorway with an expression like he’d just seen a poorly-trained dog walk on its front legs for treats.

“You were supposed to meet me for statistical analysis five minutes ago,” he said.

“I know, I got—caught up down here,” Ike said, surreptitiously motioning his eyebrows at Aimee. He held Soren’s red eyes for a panicked moment, praying his friend could read how socially stranded he was.

Soren made a small hum between closed lips. He tilted his chin at Aimee.

“If you’re done wasting our commander’s time, miss,” he said, “I need Ike for something actually important.”

“It’s not a waste of _time_ ,” Aimee protested. Ike flinched, drawing his hand out of her grasp—she’d gone from doe eyes to a feline glower in half a second, glaring at Soren like he’d interrupted a private banquet. “I’m reading our dear Commander Ike’s fortune—he’s an _earth_ sign, you know.”

“Reading palms and horoscopes _is_ a waste of time,” Soren said.

“Been telling her that for eight-odd years,” Muston grumbled.

Aimee huffed, ignoring Muston and the still-snickering twins. She pointed a finger at Soren.

“I don’t need to see your palm to know _your_ affinity,” she said. “You’re a dark sign—brooding, emotionally volatile, and prone to bouts of depression. Only compatible with water and earth signs. You should be careful around heaven signs. They’ll make your life absolutely _miserable_.”

Soren rolled his eyes. “This is stupid,” he said. “Ike— _Commander_ —we ought to be going.”

Aimee reached for Ike’s hand again, but Ike took the moment of freedom to scramble to his feet and readjust the cape hanging off his shoulders.

“Thank you for the, uh, chat,” he said, halfway out of the room.

“Come back again soo-oon!” Aimee called after them.

Ike waited until he and Soren had put themselves well out of earshot before he released his pent-up sigh.

“ _Thank_ _you_ ,” he said to Soren.

“Of course. You aren’t exactly punctual, but when five minutes had gone by I knew something had gone wrong.”

“Very wrong,” Ike said, dragging his hands across his face to stifle a groan. “If I talked to her today, does that mean I don’t have to engage her in a conversation until we reach Begnion?”

“Yes, that seems fair.”

Ike laughed dryly at that. The boat swayed underneath them; Ike shifted his center of balance along with the creaking deck. The passageway was narrow but still enough to let him and Soren walk side by side.

“…She was flirting with you, you know,” Soren said when they reached the ladder to the middle deck.

“What? No way,” Ike said.

“She was! She would have thrown herself on you like a starved animal if you gave her the opening. Don’t tell me you didn’t see it?”

Ike snorted, shaking his head. He cracked a small smile.

Soren stepped back, tallying on his fingers: “Sustained eye contact with dilated pupils—strong sign of attraction. Exaggerated laughter, close physical proximity, repeated touching, not to mention the telltale sign of flushed cheeks. That woman was undoubtedly flirting with you. The Princess does it too, albeit less flagrantly… I’m honestly surprised you haven’t noticed.”

“Maybe because I don’t care for it?” Ike said. “Ugh—at least it’s over. And I got a ‘fortune’ out of the ordeal, even if I didn’t get that broken sword fixed. There’s no way that stuff is real, is there?”

“Absolutely not,” Soren said derisively. “Palm-reading and all manner of divining the future is fake. You can’t determine someone’s ability based on a physical nuance like the creases of their hands.”

“That’s what _I_ said! So, what, I could say _anything_ under the guise of a horoscope and it would sound authentic?”

“Essentially.” Soren shrugged. “It’s why so many people can make a meager profit off it. All it takes is a gullible party and enough charisma to lie.”

Ike snorted. “Okay, so say I did this…”

He gently took Soren’s right hand and turned it up to expose his palm. Soren’s breath hitched.

“…and I said that, uh, okay this line here, the one that curls under the last three fingers, that means you’re logical and always think things through before you act, right?” Ike moved his fingertip down and followed the curved line down to Soren’s wrist. Soren’s hands were slender like a weaver’s, uncalloused and thin. “And this line means you’re super smart and independent. But I don’t need to have some divination ability—that’s just me stating objective truth. Look at that, I told your fortune.”

Ike shifted his gaze up at Soren’s face. Soren was quiet as night. His pulse raced underneath Ike’s fingertip.

“Soren?”

“Uhm—yes, that would pass as a reading,” Soren said. He cleared his throat. His fingers twitched, but Ike still held on, gently turning Soren’s hand to see it closer in the light coming down the ladder from the main cabin above them.

Ike’s brow creased. There was a tapestry of tiny nicks across Soren’s fingers and hand like the white feathers of a dandelion seed. Most were so faded that Ike was shocked he’d never noticed them before.

“What are these?” Ike murmured.

“Casting mishaps,” Soren said plainly. He could have been talking about the weather for all the emotion in his voice. “Wind magic is especially liable to inflict cuts on the caster if the mage in question doesn’t possess complete control and mental focus. Most of these are old, when I was still learning the craft. I don’t get them nearly as often now.”

“That’s awful…”

“Not really. It’s just a side effect of manipulating the spirits. Fire and thunder cause singe marks, and light magic leaves sunburn and eye damage if cast improperly. Look at Ilyana’s hands and you’ll see burns; look at Rhys’s and you’ll see peeled skin. It’s all occupational hazard. Don’t worry yourself over something so insignificant.”

Ike frowned, still looking at the array of tiny white papercuts on Soren’s hand.

“Can you teach me?” he asked.

“Pardon?”

“I don’t mean teach me how to cast magic,” Ike explained, “because I know I don’t have an ounce of talent like that in my body, but I want to understand how it works. We might have to face other mages as part of company work. I don’t want to make a bad decision or put someone in a bad situation because I didn’t take the time to learn the nuance now.”

Soren opened his mouth to speak, as if on the cusp of saying something else, but he nodded.

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll set aside time to show you.”

“Cool.” Ike smiled. “Thanks, Soren.”

“Mm.”

A few long seconds passed. The hull creaked.

Belatedly, Ike realized he was still holding Soren’s hand.

He let it drop and hurriedly pretended to brush dirt off his cloak. Soren slipped his own hands under the shadow of his bell-sleeved robe. Ike climbed the ladder first.

When he entered the middle deck, Ike could see his sister and Rolf huddled over some craft project at the far side of the dining table in the main cabin. Soren came up the ladder behind him, and one look at Soren’s face made Ike stop out of concern.

“Soren?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

“I—yes?” Soren said, confused. “Why do you ask?”

“Your cheeks are bright red is all. Do you feel sick? I can go get Rhys—”

Soren cleared his throat, turning his face to hide the flush that had taken over his pale face. Awkwardly he fiddled with the collar of his robes.

“I feel perfectly fine,” he said, more to the passageway behind them than to Ike. “I just need fresh air. I’ll—I’ll meet you abovedecks for the report.”

“Okay,” Ike said, and Soren scampered past him, across the cabin, and up the ladder in the blink of an eye.

 _I wonder what that was about,_ Ike thought, taking a handful of currants from the galley kitchen before making his way up to the top deck. He ate slowly, trying not to focus on the berries’ acidic taste. Two weeks in and already their pantry was getting down to its last good produce.

He could see Soren halfway down the ship by the wave of his long ponytail, but Ike took a moment to breathe now that he was in the open air. He leaned into the cool ocean breeze, letting the wind tug at the tails of his green headband. The sails were full, Gallia was drifting along the coast, and even a boat this size was starting to feel like a temporary home.

Ike sighed. Even a home like this wasn’t safe as long as Daein was after them.

He finished the currants, wiped his hands on his breeches, and went to fill the mantle of Commander once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ike you dumb gay


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> added the cover i made to the beginning of ch1 if you wanna check that out :)

The ship rounded its third week just as it rounded the southern border of Gallia. Soren helped guide the boat east with wind spells and adjustments based on what the elemental spirits whispered in his ear. Temperate weather near the continental shelf. Storm brewing to the southwest. Rain expected overnight regardless of their course.

Nasir took the news with as much indifference as if Soren had been describing the grain on a plank of wood. They’d been keeping the coastline steady on their western side just as a landmark, but once the distant forests of Gallia made way to scant tree cover and uneven topography Nasir set his jaw and stayed at the wheel far more than usual. His manner became curt and he often spent as much time scanning the horizon with a spyglass as he did pacing the upper deck or poring over maps.

Soren let him be. It wasn’t his business, and as long as they made it to Begnion in one piece with the Princess, then they’d fulfill their contract, collect their payment, and be on their way.

Besides, he had plenty of other things to worry about. Managing a mercenary company that had the bad habit of growing whenever he took his eyes off it was trying enough even without the strong personalities within it. Their food stash was dwindling faster than Soren liked, and he wasn't sure when their next resupply would be this far out at sea. He stayed up late most nights with nothing but a taper candle to see by, muttering figures to himself while Ike slept unawares on the top bunk in their cabin.

“You need to eat,” Ike said at breakfast after a particularly late night. Soren had fallen asleep at his desk and had bags under his eyes from lack of sleep; Ike had to tap his spoon against the side of Soren’s bowl to get his attention.

Soren sighed. “Must I?” he said.

“We’re not about to all pass out from hunger,” Ike said, tapping Soren’s bowl again. Somehow, the oatmeal inside still looked just as unappetizing as it had five minutes ago. “If Sothe tries to pull that excuse again, he can take over Oscar for stable duties this week.”

Soren snorted and trailed his spoon through his oatmeal in idle circles.

Ike finished his oatmeal and watched the rest of the main cabin, waiting for Mia and Rhys down at the other end of the dining table to turn their backs. As soon as they did, Ike tipped his bowl back and licked the last of the oatmeal out, hurriedly setting it back on the table and wiping his mouth before anyone could see. Soren snorted so loudly that Mia gave the two of them a questionable look like she’d heard a cat croak like a frog.

“Are you two gossiping about me?” Mia called.

“Hardly,” Soren muttered.

“No, just going over plans for the day,” Ike said. “Are you and Rhys going to train again?”

“You bet!” Mia said, grabbing Rhys around the elbow before he could slink away. “Miss Aimee told me about my one true foe the very first day we met, and I knew it had to be our dear sweet Rhys! ‘Clad in white, flowing like the breeze’—no one else matched that description!”

Ike and Soren shared a grimace between them.

“I would…be careful what you believe from Aimee,” Ike said cautiously.

“She’s a fraud,” Soren said.

Mia pouted, but she kept her arm firmly locked around Rhys’s, who was doing his best impression of a wilted sunflower.

“Fraud or no, I’m not passing up the chance to mold Rhys into a legendary fighter,” she said. “Come on, Rhys! To the deck!”

“Help,” was all Rhys could croak out before Mia dragged him up the ladder and out of sight.

Ike let out a low whistle. “I hope she takes it easy on him,” he said, turning his attention back to Soren. “Rhys doesn’t have the best constitution. He’s sweet, but I don’t want to pick up broken pieces of him if Mia’s overzealous with her swordwork.”

“Well, whatever injury she deals him, he can heal himself with his own light magic,” Soren said with a callous shrug.

Ike snapped his fingers. “Light magic—that’s right, you were going to show me magic, weren’t you?” he asked.

Soren blinked. “You were serious?”

“Yeah—I want to know how it works so I can be better prepared. Only if you want to, though,” Ike added in a rush.

“No, I do; it’s pragmatic to have the knowledge, anyway, even if you can’t perform it. All right. I’ll gather some requisite materials—”

He stood up, ready to sling a leg over the bench to leave. Ike tapped Soren’s bowl of oatmeal with his spoon.

“After you finish breakfast,” Ike said.

“I’m not hungry,” Soren said automatically.

Ike rolled his eyes. “What did I tell you before? We’re not about to pass out from a lack of food right now. And I’m not letting you skip meals and starve yourself just to stretch our own stores. Please?”

Soren looked at him—at that young face so plain and honest, those blue eyes so stark—and reluctantly sat back down. He kept his head down and shoveled the bland-tasting oatmeal into his mouth as fast as he could stomach it. His face felt warm like he’d been standing in the sun, even though they were inside the ship and out of direct sunlight. The air was stuffy down here. That had to be it.

A few hours later, once Soren had finished his requisite chores and ensured no one else in the company was slacking off, Soren and Ike ended up sitting by the side of Nasir’s cabin in a comfortable patch of shade. Soren adjusted his backbone against the rough wood of the cabin’s siding; it wasn’t _as_ uncomfortable as sleeping against those crates that first night, but it wasn’t much better.

Ike sat cross-legged next to him, fiddling with the laces on one of his boots. They were close enough for Ike’s knee to brush against Soren’s thigh. Yet again Soren felt his face warm.

 _Maybe Ike was right, maybe I_ am _sick,_ he thought, shifting just enough to keep his leg from touching Ike. Ike didn’t seem to notice; he finally tugged a lace free from its grommet and was busy trying to fix it. Soren tucked his bangs behind his ears. _Well, if I keep showing symptoms of a fever, I’ll ask Rhys about it. But_ only _if it doesn’t pass on its own._

He set the leatherbound book that he’d gotten in Toha to one side and a parchment and inkwell directly in front of him.

“How much do you know about magic?” he asked Ike.

“Basically nothing,” Ike said, tightening his bootlaces and focusing his attention on Soren. “I’ve only seen you and Rhys cast it, and I know you two use different spells, but that’s all.”

“Alright. The basics, then.” Soren took a deep breath. “Magic is a natural force of the world. Everyone has _some_ level of inherent magic, even if they never realize it. Most never see it manifest in any meaningful way in their day to day lives. The Church of Ashera promotes the idea that magic is the Goddess’s blessing. This is factually untrue.”

Ike tilted his head. “The…Church?” he asked. “Sorry, but that’s the last thing I expected you to talk about.”

“I spent…some years under the Church of Ashera in Crimea when I was younger,” Soren said uncomfortably, shifting his legs underneath him.

“Oh, right,” Ike said. “You probably told me that before—I apologize for forgetting.”

“Don’t be. The Church is nothing but a tool to prop up bloated ideals.” Soren bit his tongue, knowing his voice was edging on bitterness. He sighed. “But this is not about any Goddess-given manifesto. This is about the core of magic and how it behaves. Facts, not fiction.”

He spread the parchment out and weighted it at the corners with his book and the inkwell. Dipping his quill pen, Soren drew three coiled sigils equidistant across the paper:

“Wind,” he said, pointing to the first one. “Fire. Thunder. These are the base spells for all anima magic.”

He added two more below them, one to the left and one to the right:

“Light. Dark. These are their own classes of magic. These three divisions—anima, light, and dark—encompass what we know as ‘magic’.”

“Cool,” Ike whispered.

“Anima magic draws from the earth and one’s connection to the native elements. It is the simplest to attune to but takes years of dedication to truly master. That’s what I control—wind is the most innate for me, but I can cast rudimentary fire and thunder spells when the situation calls for it.”

“Can you show me?”

“Hm?”

Ike scratched the back of his neck, leaning against the side of Nasir’s cabin. His shoulders brushed against the windowsill—thankfully, the curtains inside were drawn, and there had been no sounds coming from inside that would have told them Nasir was there.

“I’ve only ever seen you cast wind spells,” Ike explained, “when the air glows light green and swirls around you. And I only saw Ilyana use thunder magic from a distance.”

“All right. I suppose I can demonstrate.”

Soren flipped his book to the first block of pages. One third of the pages had the wind sigil, one third had fire, and one third had thunder. It had been the most economical purchase back in Toha, but it was also the most general purpose—Soren made a mental note to craft a spellbook filled purely with wind sigils when he had the time. Fire and thunder were situational at best—wind you could always rely on.

He traced the curled sigil with one finger and felt the paper thrum underneath his touch.

“ _Ezak_ ,” he whispered.

The sigil flared pale green and shredded its page as swirls of wind gathered in Soren’s hand. He let the sharp-edged coils dance between his fingers, the soft glow illuminating his skin, and right as he felt the spell buck he cast it out towards the sky to disappear with the rest of the wind.

Ike was watching him with open-eyed amazement. Soren shook out the paper shreds and turned to a fire sigil midway through the book.

“ _Neak_ ,” he said.

The page burst into flames and smoke. Soren caught the spell with coiled fingers before it could get away, like a hawk grasping a fieldmouse, and he rotated his wrist to keep the bright orange flames from singeing him or Ike. Soren let the fire swirl around his hand and then clenched his fist, making the fire burst upward and dissipate downwind.

He knocked the book’s spine against the deck to get rid of the soot and turned to the last anima sigil, the more complex base sign for thunder. Catching Ike’s eye, Soren smirked and brushed his finger against the sigil, letting the innate energy raise the hairs on his arm.

“ _Adnas_ ,” he said, and the page crackled into a burst of sparks.

Ike flinched back, but Soren grabbed the bright yellow spell with one hand and spread his fingers so the lightning could bounce between his knuckles, arc and burst, fork and spark, until he flung it at a distant cloud and shivered when it rumbled with latent thunder.

He set his hand down and brushed away the pile of ashes where the spell page had been. Ike let out a long, slow breath, letting his posture relax again.

“That was…wow,” Ike breathed.

“All sigils destroy their mediums when they are cast,” Soren explained. His knuckles were sore; belatedly he realized the fire and thunder spells had made them red like he’d run his hands under hot water. A child’s mistake. He frowned at them and ignored the ache. “Spells require two components: a written sigil that binds the elemental spirit to a concrete material, and a verbal incantation. Theoretically you can cast a spell from any written inscription, but books bound with natural materials—leather, hide, sinew—those form the best conduits.”

His tone lapsed into the methodical cadence of lectures and reports. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Ike watching him with rapt attention, and Soren tried not to let it distract him. He cleared his throat.

“The verbal component is in old tongue,” he went on, “and some mages like to write their spell surrounding the sigil, but I find that to be a waste of time unless you’re trying to cast something truly arduous.”

“Can you do the other two?” Ike asked.

“No.”

Soren set aside his book and tapped the sigils for light and dark on the parchment.

“Light magic draws its energy from the sun, and dark magic from the moon. The Church will tell you that light magic is sacred because it comes from the Goddess Ashera, and that dark magic, conversely, is wicked because it comes from the Dark God, but, again, that’s just propaganda. Rhys is a holy man—he follows Ashera’s principles, and maybe that _does_ influence his ability to cast light magic, but at the end of the day his performance comes down to his innate magical aptitude and his ability to funnel it through spellcraft. I am an anima mage. I spent the first eight years of my life utterly devoted to its study. I have no desire to trifle with two new disciplines when I have yet to master my own course first.”

“What about staves?” Ike said. He grimaced as he unfolded his legs, crossing them at the knee instead. His hand drifted up to scratch at his left shoulder through his tunic. “Like the healing ones Rhys uses. Isn’t that light magic?”

“Staves are different,” Soren said. “Anyone with magical talent can use one if they train enough. A healing staff only responds to old tongue, not sigils; one doesn’t need to know light magic specifically in order to use a staff written with a light spell.”

“Oh.” Ike leaned his head back and looked up at the sky. “I probably wouldn’t be able to learn how to use one, then. My talent is in actual weaponry, not magic.”

“Most likely not.” Soren tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the cover of his spellbook. “Though, come to think of it, your sister has a bit more natural talent compared to the average person. _She_ could potentially learn to wield a spirit-imbued weapon or a staff if she trained enough.”

Ike shook his head. “No way,” he said quietly but firmly. “My sister is staying out of any battles. I’m not risking her life; she’s all I have left—”

“Brother! There you are—oh, hi, Soren! What are you guys up to?”

Soren winced; Mist had come around the side of the cabin with a sunny smile and her hair tied in twin braids. Either she’d seen Soren casting spells, or she had an uncanny ability to interrupt conversations at the least opportune moment.

Mist didn’t seem to care. She was holding two plates piled with steamed fish and some sort of grain.

“Hey, Mist,” Ike said, forcing a smile. If Mist had caught the tail end of their conversation, she didn’t seem to show it. “Soren was showing me magic. Is that lunch?”

“Yep! It was ready ten minutes ago.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

“You two looked like you were having fun,” Mist said. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

She grinned at them; Soren pointedly folded the sigil parchment into his spellbook. Mist handed Ike the bigger of the two plates and held on to the other.

“That’s for you two to split,” she said. “Elincia and Marcia caught some fish on one of Marcia’s patrols, it’s really good!”

“Thanks, Mist,” Ike said. Soren made a neutral noise and held his spellbook closer.

“Have either of you seen Volke?” Mist asked.

“That man is an enigma,” Soren said. “So: no.”

“Is something the matter?” Ike said.

“I’ve never seen him eat with us is all,” Mist said, looking over her shoulder at the rest of the main deck. Brom and Nephenee were sparring with mops and wearing buckets on their heads in lieu of helmets. Mist shook her head. “He also never comes around to train, or even to look at the view. I hope he isn’t going hungry…”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Ike said, “but I can talk to him if you want.”

“Thank you, brother. I guess I’ll just bring this back to the galley…”

Soren waited until Mist had left before he stood up, holding his spellbook against his chest. The boat rocked underneath him and made him bump his hip against the railing as he went to leave.

“Hey, not so fast,” Ike said. He stretched his legs out to block the way, boots firmly against the wooden railing. “Mist said this was food for both of us. Come on, we may as well eat here before it gets any colder.”

Soren let out a long-suffering sigh and tucked his chin against his collarbone.

“I’m not getting out of this, am I?” he said.

“Nope. Like I said—I’m not letting you go hungry.”

Soren frowned. Logically he knew he could step right over Ike’s legs, or walk around the other side of Nasir’s cabin to reach the main deck that way, but neither option felt like it was worth the effort.

Well, fine. Even mediocre fish would taste marginally better out here.

Soren sat back down, set aside his spell supplies, and ate with his fingers until the plate they shared was empty. The vestiges of his cast spells drifted through the sky above, all returning to wind in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for bein patient, sorry this took forever... i took the week off to recover from stress and anxiety/depression junk. 
> 
> how i made the sigils:  
> i have a spreadsheet of basic elemental words and concepts translated into the tellius old tongue (backwards japanese), then i took the simplest concept word for each branch and wrote it out using the in-game old tongue font, then figured out ways to combine the letters so that each sigil was made up of its constituent parts. here's my sketchbook page where i did the brainstorming: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EinqNq6XsAMNRSq?format=jpg


	40. Chapter 40

Titania blocked the sword strike an instant before it could meet her skin.

She slid her own blade along the length of her opponent’s to break contact, stepping back and taking a moment to wipe her brow. Swords and leather armor were hardly her outfit of choice, but when the Commander asked for a training match, one could hardly refuse.

Ike edged to one side, always keeping one eye on Titania and the other on the boxes and ropes that had rolled into their makeshift arena, the middle ground between the ship’s two sturdy masts. Shade from the large square sails was a blessing against the midday heat.

Titania surged forward and swept up with her own iron sword. Ike ducked underneath her swing and parried, meeting her blade with a resounding _clang_ before he twisted away, falling into habit to try and stab at her abdomen. Titania grunted when she blocked the strike. The sound of metal on metal made her grit her teeth; these dulled blades were hardly practical for a real fight, but for sparring matches like this, they were perfect for those who needed a bit more heft to handle and not worry about accidental injury.

Titania braced her knees and leaned her weight forward into her next thrust, catching the air above Ike’s right shoulder as he maneuvered again to try and reach a blind spot. Titania swung her blade up and blocked Ike’s strike, pushed forward, and managed to upset Ike’s balance when the ship rolled underneath a wave. She whacked him with the flat of the blade against his shoulder guard.

“Point!” she called.

From the sidelines, Marcia cheered while she fixed the tack on her pegasus, and Kieran was jostling the twin merchant brothers as they all swapped coins under their palms. Soren was hiding in the shadow cast by the large central sail writing in a leatherbound book. From time to time, he’d peer up at the match as if checking for damages, but inevitably return to his writing.

Titania backed up to give her and Ike some space. The midday sun was grueling, especially now that the first day of summer had officially come and gone.

“Good form,” Titania said. “Remember to keep your center of balance between the arches of your feet, though. Uneven terrain will always take advantage of you if you forget your footing.”

Ike nodded and fixed his stance. The boat lurched underneath them, forcing them to sway on their feet in order to keep their balance.

 _As much as I’ve adapted to sea legs, I’ll be grateful when this is over,_ Titania thought with a wince as she bumped her hip against the center mast. _Ike and the others seem to be keeping up, but I bet we’ll all be kissing the earth when we reach solid ground again._

Before she could call for the next round, a figure emerged from behind the rigging, ducking underneath the sail. Nasir drew his muslin robes around him and looked at the small crowd with an impassive expression.

“I was wondering what all the commotion was,” he said flatly. “It sounded like a pedestrian brawl to take over the ship. I assumed if there was an _actual_ mutiny I would have been roped into it by now.”

“Sorry,” Ike said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I just wanted to get in a sparring session with Titania before she had to fix the galley table. Our training tends to be a little more intense than the others’.”

“And _I_ was just out here getting Cass all pretty,” Marcia added, “but I stuck around for the show.”

“I was betting on Dame Titania,” Kieran said.

“It’s just Titania, thank you,” Titania said wearily. No matter how many times she’d corrected Kieran, he always lapsed right back into using a knight’s title for her. Oscar didn’t mind being called ‘Sir’, despite having also left the Royal Knights, but the title left a dry feeling in Titania’s ribcage like she’d been breathing smoke.

Nasir hummed a disapproving note and approached Marcia. Her pegasus, Casserole, flared its nostrils and ruffled its russet-speckled wings, but Nasir ignored it.

“Are you still planning on your aerial patrol?” he asked her.

“Yeah, unless Commander Handsome has any thoughts about it,” Marcia said, peering past Nasir to waggle her eyebrows at Ike.

“It’s just ‘Commander Ike’,” Ike clarified. Titania hid a smile behind her hand.

Nasir idly twisted one of his many rings. “You had best be cautious,” he said. “We are in the Gazaleah Sea now. The waters here are jointly controlled by Goldoa and Phoenicis—the dragons and hawks—and neither laguz tribe enjoys unannounced company. Goldoa prefers to keep within its borders along the coast to our northeast, but Phoenicis patrols these waters earnestly. Sometimes ravens from Kilvas will raid this far west. The bird tribes harbor deep anti-beorc sentiment; they will attack any beorc they see without hesitation. I’m all for one less horse on board my ship, but try to be smart about it.”

“Oh, we’re smart as salmon,” Marcia said with a wink. “Always know where to go when the goin’ gets tough. But don’t worry, we won’t fly far—I just wanted to keep an eye on whatever’s followin’ us.”

Titania, Ike, and Soren shared a sharp look between them.

“Who’s following us?” Ike demanded.

“I don’t rightly know,” Marcia said. She hiked one foot into the stirrup and swung herself onto Casserole’s back. The pegasus tossed its head, eager to be aloft. “I only saw it yesterday at sunset. I thought it was a figment of my imagination at first, some kind of shadow popping in and out of sight, but there’s definitely someone tailing us. I could barely make ‘em out—but it looks like something with big batlike wings and a rider on its back.”

“Not a Goldoan dragon then,” Nasir said, relieved. “Laguz do not take riders.”

“What about wild dragons?” Titania asked.

“Dragons and wyverns are predominantly inland creatures,” Soren piped up from his perch in the shade. He crossed one leg over the other and made a show of continuing to write while he was speaking. “Their average territory stretches through the Blue Mountain Range and into the Blacktos Mountains bordering the Desert of Death. If this is a trained wyvern rider or a dracoknight, then they must have come from either Daein or Begnion. Considering the trajectory, it’s likely a Daeinish straggler from Toha.”

Titania cursed under her breath. Of course it was someone from Toha—whoever had called back the wyverns from pursuing them out of the harbor must have had a change of heart. That, or it was someone acting rogue, and neither option was a good sign.

Marcia held her reins steady, looking at Ike for approval before she trotted out past the sails and took off in a flurry of wingbeats, soaring higher into the sky until she was just as small as the seagulls.

Nasir was already heading towards his cabin at the fore. Kieran and the brothers leaned forward eagerly, already passing a few coins and whispers between them for the next round.

Ike rolled his shoulders, resuming his stance.

“Soren, what’s the score?” he asked.

“Two to three, Titania’s advantage,” Soren replied without looking up from his book.

“Best of five was our agreement,” Ike said, turning to Titania, “but a two-point lead is only fair, right?”

Titania nodded. “At your leisure, Commander.”

Ike adjusted his grip, waited half a second, and lunged. Titania let him press forward, careful to keep him from pushing her towards the railing, and then pivoted to reverse their positions, swiping low with her sword. Ike nimbly darted out of the way and brought his own sword up to meet Titania’s. When the ship tilted, Titania shoved forward and caught Ike off-center again, forcing him back towards the mast.

Titania raised her sword arm up, aiming to come down on Ike’s shoulder.

Ike’s eyes widened.

He dropped his sword.

A hush fell over the group.

Ike was rooted in place, staring at something past Titania’s head, but nothing was there when she checked. Slowly, Titania lowered her arm until her sword rested at an angle to her leg, hiding it from Ike’s line of sight.

“Ike?” she asked quietly. “Is everything—”

“I’m fine,” Ike said a little too hurriedly. He gestured vaguely at the sky. “It’s just the sun. Got in my eyes. I’ll, ah…the match is yours. Good job.”

Ike clumsily sheathed his sword and turned away, ducking under the sail and disappearing somewhere towards the stern. Without a match to bet on anymore, Kieran, Jorge, and Daniel dispersed before Soren could assign them extra chores. Titania stayed where she was, watching the sail buckle in the breeze.

“Is he alright?” she said.

“…Leave him alone for now,” Soren said. “It’s just stress manifesting itself in rather inconvenient ways. I’ll make sure he delegates responsibilities so as not to overwork himself.”

“Has he been sleeping better?”

“No obvious panic attacks since that first night,” Soren replied. “And I’ve been awake long enough to tell that he sleeps through most nights.”

Titania frowned at him. “Soren, what did I tell _you_ about taking a break? Staying up into the bleak hours of morning doesn’t sound healthy. Take your own advice and stop overworking _yourself_ for a change.”

Instead of giving her a reply, Soren glared at her and clapped his book shut, standing in a hurry to find a conversational escape route. He rounded the other mast and headed for the prow; the only trace of him was the tail of his silky black hair like a lizard darting underneath a rock.

Titania pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

 _What am I to do with them, Greil?_ she thought. … _Help them as best I can, I suppose. That’s all I_ can _do._

She sheathed her practice sword and headed to the galley, thoughts circling through her head.

***

Ike ate his lunch too quickly and retreated to the hull of the ship. He paced down the passageway, footsteps like a drum, like a heart trying to outrun anxiety through sheer grit. He tightened the knot on his headband so it could press around his skull and chase out the shame of his own memory.

They’d only been sparring. Everything had been fine. Everything had been _normal_ , except Titania had raised her sword in that specific way and in an instant the sun was swallowed by the moon and the Black Knight had been standing there with blood on his armor and that greatsword tall as a mountain about to cleave Ike in two, only this time Soren wasn’t there to level half a building onto the street, this time it was just Ike, alone—

And he’d dropped his sword. Fool that he was, he _dropped_ his only _weapon_ because of nerves or some subconscious knowledge that a dulled iron blade would never work against a man made of ebon nightmare.

“Calm down,” Ike said under his breath, thankful that the only company he had down here were the horses at the far end and closed doors on the cabins between. “It was just a dream. In the middle of the day. In the middle of a fight that could have cost my life if I froze up like that again—!”

He stopped in the middle of the passage and tugged on his hair, screwing his eyes shut. For a few moments he tried to match his breathing to the rock and sway of the boat, in and out, in and out, until the trembling in his hands stopped and he let go. He swiped a hand across his face and took a last deep breath.

“I’m okay,” he said to the empty hall. “I’m okay.”

One of the horses whinnied from the stern.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Ike added awkwardly, “in case anyone was somehow eavesdropping, I guess.”

“I wasn’t trying to, but you _are_ kind of blocking the door to my cabin, so…”

Ike whirled around and drew his sword in one motion, almost cutting Volke across the forearm. Volke leaned back on his heels with a half-eaten bread roll in one hand.

“Woah, easy, kid,” Volke said. “Just making an observation.”

“Volke?!” Ike sputtered. “What are you—”

“Got hungry,” Volke said, gesturing with the bread roll. “Fixed the stall doors. And now I’m going to take a nap. Hence me politely needing you to scooch to the side there.”

“Uh…sure,” Ike said.

He awkwardly backed up, letting Volke slide the door open. The cramped cabin Volke had decided to sleep in was the company’s main weapons storage, filled top to bottom with padded canvas rolls and wooden chests—and barely twelve feet wide. All of the Greil Mercenaries’ proper weapons—Titania’s battleaxe, Oscar’s lances, Mia’s slender swords—were carefully stored here for when they eventually disembarked. Only a few were unwrapped and in easy grabbing distance on the off chance they needed to arm themselves before then.

The cabin was far too cramped to maneuver in, but Volke was already halfway up a stack of boxes with the limberness of a squirrel. Ike had half a mind to leave him, but the bread roll reminded him of something.

“Volke, hang on,” Ike said.

Volke sighed. “Yeah?”

“I know you like to mind your own business,” Ike said, “but you…haven’t once shared a meal with us.”

“Didn’t know it was a requirement.”

“It’s not, but it’s just that—well, my sister Mist, she mentioned the other day that you hadn’t been eating on the ship, either. She was carrying around a plate of food that was getting colder by the second. She thinks you’re dying of hunger somewhere.”

Volke shrugged. “Just tell her it’s a nonissue. We didn’t eat together on land, either, and no one starved.”

Ike ran a hand over his face.

“Okay, but here’s the thing,” he said. “Land? Big. Ship? Small. It’s not the same! I don’t want my sister roaming the ship with a plate of food anymore. Can you please just eat one meal a day with the rest of the company?”

Volke took a bite of the bread roll and chewed it over.

“One hundred gold.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s my price.”

Ike paused long enough for the implication to sink in. He stared at Volke.

“You’re…I can’t believe this, you’re charging me to make you eat?” he said, flabbergasted. “That’s stupid. _And_ that’s more than you charge to pick locks!”

Volke took another bite of bread and considered.

“…Two hundred gold.”

“Wh—why did it increase?” Ike stammered.

“Because you’re wasting my time, kid.”

Ike groaned, burying his face in his hands. This man was impossible.

 _It’ll be worth it when I finally know what Father needed him to investigate,_ Ike thought, regaining his composure. _When I somehow come up with fifty thousand gold marks…_

“Listen, I don’t like large crowds. That’s not my scene,” Volke said as he climbed to the top of the stack of boxes. “Call me if you decide it’s worth it. Bye.”

He dropped down behind the stack. Ike strained his ears, waiting for some kind of crash, some clatter of shafts and axeheads, but Volke had apparently made himself a soundless secret haven.

 _At least no one can steal our own weaponry if he’s in here guarding it all the time,_ Ike thought. _But if he’s going to be that difficult about eating a simple meal with us…maybe I should just tell Mist he’s dead?_ _That way she won’t have to waste her time tracking him down._

Ike shook his head, intending to leave Volke well enough alone, but he stopped with his hand on the door handle. There was a nagging feeling in his chest, the same feeling that made him return to that clearing the day after Greil’s death.

_Just one look. I need to make sure it’s still here._

“…Do you mind if I check on something, Volke?” Ike said to the empty room.

“Be my guest,” Volke replied from somewhere in the back corner.

Ike nudged aside the canvas roll that held their collection of javelins and made his way to the other back corner, pushing aside a canvas tarp and kneeling to check what was behind it. With nervous fingers Ike picked at the knots of rope tying the bundle together. Gently he unfolded the layers of undyed cloth.

 _There you are,_ he thought.

The golden greatsword with its too-perfect edge and its too-unmarred blade looked exactly as he’d last seen it. Ike hadn’t touched the thing since retrieving it from the forest, hadn’t oiled or maintained it in any way, yet the sword looked as if it had been freshly cleaned an hour ago. His own pensive reflection stared back at him from the metal.

 _What are you?_ he wondered. _How can a sword be so impervious to time? I knew if I kept this around then I’d meet Father’s murderer again, and he almost kills me in Toha. There has to be some reason it was left in the clearing._

He lowered his hand an inch from the blade’s surface. The sword felt ordinary, and yet there was _something_ there, some faint hum of energy that made the hairs on the back of Ike’s arm stand on edge. He closed his eyes.

He pressed his hand against the metal.

A gentle, humid breeze coasted across his skin, scented like rain and loamy soil. Distantly he heard the drumming of rain against the canopy of trees, heard the scuffing of boots and leather, the drive of steel against steel, thunder and lightning. He couldn’t see his father or the Black Knight, but he knew they were there, haunting the background of whatever sensation this was. He heard no voices. Saw no bodies. Yet when he breathed in he could smell the woods, smell the storm and its raging winds and the thick iron-rich scent of blood dripping from his father’s wounds.

Ike’s fingers tensed against the cold metal of the greatsword, but he kept his hand there, rode the memory out until the sound of rain drifted back to the sound of waves. Ike waited until he couldn’t smell the forest anymore. Only then did he open his eyes.

He was still kneeling in the musty cabin. The hull creaked underneath him.

Ike let out a tense breath and lifted his hand away. He’d left a warm imprint on the sword like breath on cold windowpanes.

“…What _are_ you?” he whispered.

He stilled, not even knowing what he was waiting for, but the sword in his lap was as silent and impassive as the metal it was made from.

Ike sighed and rewrapped it, leaving the sword underneath the tarp where he’d hidden it before. He slid the cabin door behind him as he left, ready to return abovedecks to the fresh air and forced pleasantries, but a whisper of a word slipped into his thoughts the moment before the door shut:

_Ragnell._

Ike shivered head to toe with a sudden cold sweat.

The door clicked shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yknow how alondite triggered those memories in RD? that, but ragnell  
> (tfw u gotta attune to ur magic weapon, smh)
> 
> thank u for reading, take care of yourselves and each other


	41. Chapter 41

With good winds and a few pushes from Soren’s spells, Nasir steered them through the Gazaleah Sea, drawing ever closer between Goldoa’s rugged coastline and Phoenicis’s jagged peaks. Crossing into the strait between the two countries marked the halfway point of their voyage—a marker that the entire ship save for Nasir seemed to revel in. Ike helped where he could, letting the manual labor of hauling ropes and cleaning keep him from his own stewing thoughts.

Of course, that only lasted a few days.

Ike had been sitting with Soren at one end of the long dining table after dinner in the main cabin, minding his own business and discussing company expenses for once they reached Begnion. Mist came to sit across from them, and Ike didn’t mind at first, but then the benches around them filled like a river slowly breaking its dam.

First it was Mia. Then it was Boyd and Oscar. Then Zihark at the far end, Titania with Brom and Elincia, Kieran, Nephenee, Ilyana, everybody except Nasir and the merchant twins who’d gotten stuck with the first night shift abovedecks. It was like Ike had blinked and the room had suddenly shrunk in size, filled with chatter and noise and the heady smell of leather. Pinned between Soren and Brom—and Ilyana on Soren’s other side—Ike’s legs were cramped, and he didn’t have the space to maneuver over the bench and as far away from the crowd as possible.

Soren caught Ike’s nervous fidgeting and leaned over, black hair trailing across his cheek.

“I could always cast a thunder spell under the table,” he murmured. “That would clear Ilyana away so I could get out.”

“Please don’t,” Ike whispered back.

“Only a suggestion…”

Before Ike could think of a more compelling reason why setting a loud thunderclap off in a cramped space was a bad idea, a string of tinny notes drew his attention to the far end of the table. Elincia sat at the carved chair at the head in place of Nasir. She had a wooden instrument laid out before her, shaped like an elongate figure eight with a fretboard that stretched down its length, polished so finely that it shone under the lamplight from the ceiling. She plucked the three waxed strings with one hand while maneuvering her other along the fretboard, pulling a tune into thin air.

Conversations dwindled as the music took hold. Elincia closed her eyes and let the texture of the wood and string beneath her fingertips guide her, drifting her hands along the frets to pluck a melody that sung like hazy summer and fireflies. When she finished, Elincia laid her hands flat against the strings to still them and lifted her head.

The cabin erupted in sudden applause. Ike and Soren both startled and knocked their shoulders together. Elincia blushed.

“That was beautiful, Your Highness,” said Titania.

“Worthy of the highest praise!” added Kieran.

“What sort of instrument is that?” Brom asked. “I ain’t never seen one in that kind of shape before.”

“I believe this is a Goldoan dulcimer,” Elincia replied, running a finger along the polished rosewood. “Captain Nasir let me borrow it. He has quite the collection of artifacts in his cabin!”

_Artifacts and secrets,_ Ike thought, remembering the tea he and Soren had attended that very afternoon. Ike hadn’t wanted to displease their employer, but Elincia’s insistence had landed him and his friend in an hour-long conversation that had left Ike antsy for the rest of the day. Nasir’s cabin was stuffy and smelled heavily of incense despite the long window that looked over the prow. It was adorned in rich textiles and odd objects more befitting an antiques shop than one’s personal quarters. Even their conversation seemed to drag—Ike had sat back and listened while Elincia expressed for the hundredth time how grateful she was for the Greil Mercenaries’ services, how she wished there was something more she could do, and all manner of cyclical praise Ike had heard time and time again.

Still, sitting through that talk had given Ike a fair bit of insight.

_Nasir is laguz._

Ike glanced at the ladder leading abovedecks. Somewhere up there was their captain, a man who only grew more mysterious the more Ike learned about him. Ike frowned, idly picking at the neckline of his shirt. His fingernails caught underneath at the raised bit of scar tissue peeking out from his collarbone.

_Nasir didn’t tell us what type of laguz he is,_ he thought, _but it explains why he was willing to help us—or, rather, Ranulf._ _He has a dulcimer from Goldoa, feathered tokens from the Phoenician Isles, and rattles made from Daeinish wyvern scales. He’s a well-traveled man, that’s for sure, but there’s something odd about him that I can’t seem to place…but Ranulf trusts him. I’ll just have to take his word and hope we reach Begnion earlier than expected before our supplies run out._

Ike glanced over and saw Rhys looking at him worriedly from down the table. Ike slowly lowered his hand back to his lap. Rhys was the only one who knew about the scar the Black Knight left across his chest—Titania and Soren probably did, too, but Ike had never brought it up around them and intended to keep it that way.

It just _itched_. No matter the salves he applied or the small amount of healing magic he allowed Rhys to administer, Ike caught himself scratching at the scar whenever his hands wandered—or whenever his thoughts drifted back to the night Greil died.

Ragnell. Whatever that was, it had to be important.

It’s not like the sword had _spoken_ to him that afternoon in the weapons storage—it was more like a spontaneous thought, an epiphany that clicked in Ike’s brain the moment before he shut the door. It was a thought that made sense, even though nothing else about it did.

_Maybe it isn’t the sword at all,_ he thought, trying to tune out the sounds of clinking ale mugs now that people had dipped into the galley’s alcohol stash. _Maybe ‘Ragnell’ is a Tellian legend, or some historical figure. Knowing my luck it could just be a weird name for a type of fruit._

A boisterous laugh snapped Ike from his thoughts.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Kieran insisted, slapping Oscar on the back. “One round, that’s all I ask!”

“Kieran, you know Titania and I left the Knights years ago,” Oscar said, squirming in place. He was squished between Kieran on one side and Boyd on the other without a clear opportunity to escape. Ike felt a pang of sympathy for the man.

“My older brother’s just a coward,” Boyd said. He waggled his bushy eyebrows at Oscar.

Oscar groaned and ran his hands through his hair. “Fine,” he said to Kieran, “but only if Titania agrees.”

“I’ve no objection,” Titania said. Oscar tried to give her a pleading look, but Titania tilted back her own mug of ale and set it on the table. “I might not remember how it starts, though.”

“Never fear!” Kieran said. “I’ll have you know that while I might have led the Fifth Platoon, I _also_ led the loudest cheer at the end of every campaign!”

“Oh, no,” Soren muttered just loud enough for Ike to hear, and before either of them could look for a way out, Kieran slapped his cup on the table and called Titania and Oscar with him to sing:

“ _Oh, a Crimean Knight never runs from a fight,  
_ _no matter the odds or their sway;  
_ _We’ll protect the crown ‘til the sun has gone down  
_ _and be heroes upon the new day!”_

All three stomped their feet twice in rhythm before starting anew:

_“So raise your glass to the Crimean class—  
_ _to our valor, our words, and our deeds,  
_ _for when day is done and our battles are won  
_ _we’ll drink to the last drop of mead!”_

They stomped in time again and threw their mugs back to take a long swig of ale while the table applauded. Elincia clapped gaily, grinning ear to ear.

“That was splendid!” she said. “And it brings back such memories—Geoffrey used to rally the platoons with that song before long excursions.”

“That was who I learned it from!” Kieran said, returning Elincia’s broad smile. “Although, I always thought it was ‘raise your glass to this Crimean _ass_ ’…”

“That’s because you have no class to begin with,” Oscar muttered into his drink.

Kieran put a hand over his heart, offended, while Elincia and Titania laughed. Even Ike let himself crack a smile at that. Oscar and Kieran could bicker and banter as much as they liked so long as they weren’t inconveniencing others.

“Neph, go and get your fiddle!” Brom urged, nudging Nephenee on his other side. Nephenee blushed beet-red and tried to mumble an excuse, but she managed to twist around and fold her legs out and over the bench to slip away towards her quarters.

_Okay, if I can just get Brom to move over,_ Ike thought, _then I can get out and—_

“Psst! Brother!”

Mist leaned over the table eagerly. Her smile was so bright it could have summoned daylight outside.

“Sing with me!” she said. “One of those songs Father used to play on the ocarina!”

Ike felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He glanced down the table—everyone else was preoccupied figuring out who would perform next, but it was only a matter of time before they decided.

“Mist, I’m really not in the mood,” Ike said quietly.

“You’re no fun,” Mist teased, rolling her eyes. “Here, I’ll start, and I bet you’ll join in by the last bit.”

“Mist!” Ike hissed, but his sister had already sat up straight and taken a deep breath. As if the table could sense it, everyone quieted, and Ike could feel their eyes on him as well as his sister as she sang:

“ _Said the wind unto the wolfdog, ‘Where is your pack, my dear?  
_ _‘I’ve followed you these weary miles and seen no family near.’  
_ _Said the wolfdog to the wind, ‘I keep my company mine own;  
_ _The trees are all I need for now and my pups have gone and grown_

_‘But like the snow upon the mountain know that I can feel them here,  
_ _their voices joined in symphony though I’m no longer near.  
_ _I’ve traveled far and further still my weary legs must go,  
_ _for I’m to find my final rest in the valley down below.’”_

Mist’s voice was clear and strong and sounded like birds in spring. Down the table, Zihark had perked up and was looking at the two of them curiously.

Ike wanted to pull his cloak over his face and hide.

Mist went on:

“ _So the wind followed the wolfdog ‘cross river, stream, and grove,  
_ _their company inseparable and twined in tune with love  
_ _Til at last they found a meadow filled with lavender and gold;  
_ _The wolfdog laid its weary head and to the wind it told:_

_‘Like the snow upon the mountain, I will never truly go,  
_ _my voice is yours to carry now through chasm, cliff, and cold._  
 _We will sing this world together howling brighter than the moon;  
_ _my memory will carry on in your gale and in your tune.’”_

Mist sat back proudly, shooting Ike a look that meant ‘ _See? This was fun!_ ’ that did nothing to quell the anxiety churning in his stomach even though he hadn't joined the song. Polite applause rang in his ears like it was through a thick fold of cotton.

Nephenee came back with her fiddle; Brom left the bench to let her back in, and Ike took the opportunity to slip out before he could be penned in again. If anyone called after him, he didn’t hear.

His cabin was mercifully quiet. Ike fumbled with the hanging lantern to get a light source going and then fell onto the lower bunk with a great sigh, almost smacking his head against the wall. He stretched his feet out in front of him on the floor, undid the laces, and kicked his boots off.

Hardly a minute later, the door slid open again. Soren latched it quietly behind him and puttered around the cramped room, tidying papers and replacing a few books that had fallen off of their stack. Eventually he sat next to Ike on the narrow bunk.

They lapsed into silence. Ike let the muted laughter and music from down the passageway drift in and out along with his and Soren’s own quiet breathing. The boat swayed. Time slowed. Soren crossed his legs with a rustle of fabric and stared up at the bunk above them.

“Does the word ‘Ragnell’ mean anything to you?” Ike finally asked.

Soren squinted up at the wood-and-iron frame. The little red mark on his forehead creased with his brow as he thought about it.

“…It sounds _vaguely_ familiar,” Soren said, “but I would need to consult reference books to ferret out why. Unfortunately I seem to have a lack of new materials considering we are in the middle of the ocean.”

“I know, I know,” Ike said, slumping further against the bunk. At this rate he’d fall off and hit his rear on the floor if he wasn’t careful. “I promise we’ll buy all the books we can carry once we reach Begnion.”

“That wouldn’t be a wise use of funds,” Soren said.

“Yeah, but we have to start rebuilding the fort’s library eventually. Might as well let the guy who uses it the most decide what to put in it.”

Soren hummed, tucking his hands into his sleeves. Ike closed his eyes.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing Ike knew he had a crick in his neck and was sitting on the floor with his back against the bunk frame. The cabin was dark save for a single taper candle at the desk, flickering across Soren’s hair and shoulders as he bent over a spread of papers. Ike rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“What time is it?” he asked groggily.

Soren’s shoulders hitched up, but his voice was neutral when he replied, “Close to midnight. The revelry died down not long after you fell asleep. I believe Mia and Boyd are still splitting the last draught of ale between them. They’ll regret it when they realize that was their entire week’s alcohol ration wasted in a single night.”

Ike made a sleepy noise and let his eyes adjust to the room. The moon was barely a crescent sliver in the sky through the porthole above the desk, and if it wasn’t for the dim yellow light from the candle, Soren would have blended right in with the darkness. Ike heard the telltale scratching of a pen against parchment and frowned in Soren’s direction.

“Are you still working?” he asked.

“These expense trajectories won’t compile themselves.”

Ike shook his head, loosening his headband to let his bangs fall across his brow. He got up and stretched, wincing when the muscles around his neck protested, and came over to lean against the back of Soren’s chair.

“It’s late,” Ike said. “Get some sleep.”

“Midnight is hardly ‘late’,” Soren replied.

“It is when we need to be up before dawn for morning watch. Come on.”

Ike gently pried Soren’s quill from his hand and set it aside, clumsily capping the inkwell and getting black smudges on his fingertips. Soren folded his papers back into their leather folio, grumbling the whole time, as Ike climbed up to his own bunk and lay down. He draped one arm lazily over the side of the bunk and let the drag of sleep dim the rest of his senses.

And yet, even as he drifted, the last thing Ike felt was the barest brush of a hand against his fingertips.

He smiled.

And he slept without dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna be Extra and record the songs that i wrote in this chap bc i have melodies for them but then i got too self-conscious. anyway, finally getting back to the game script next chap. thanks for ur patience.


	42. Chapter 42

Mist yawned widely as she made her way to the galley, rubbing her eyes against the bright morning sunlight through the portholes. She made herself a lukewarm bowl of oatmeal and sat at the dining table to eat.

_Today’s chores: curry the horses,_ she thought while she chewed. She pulled a face and spat out an almond hard as a rock. _Oil the leather armor pads, finish mending the spare sail…fun._

She finished her breakfast sooner than she’d liked, but it took her that long to realize someone was staring at her.

Warily, Mist looked up to find Sothe’s sharp gold eyes fixated on her. The boy looked a bit healthier than when they’d found him onboard a few weeks ago, but there was still a gauntness to his face that made Mist want to squirm in her seat.

“…Yeah?” she said.

“Where did you learn that song?” Sothe asked bluntly.

“What?”

“The song you sang last night. I wanna know where you heard it.”

Mist set her spoon down uneasily, glancing out of the corner of her eye to the rest of the cabin for backup. Unfortunately, the only other people eating were the merchant convoy, and they were engaged in a fierce conversation about exchange rates between Daeinish and Crimean currency now that Crimea had been conquered. Mist frowned.

“It’s a song my father used to play,” she said. “Ike knows it, too, but he was being stubborn last night and didn’t want to join. Our father would play it in the winter when it got really cold.”

“Was he from Daein?” Sothe asked.

“No?”

“Then why does he know it?”

“I don’t see what this has to do with anything,” Mist said, crossing her arms across her chest. She leaned back on the bench to give herself a bit more distance; Sothe’s face was a neutral mask, but he never broke eye contact, glowering like a polished gemstone under a coat of sand. The effect was downright unnerving. “And how did _you_ know what I sang last night? I didn’t even see you—”

“ _Snow upon the Mountain_ is a Daeinish folk song,” Sothe said. “It’s only taught in temples and old school yards.”

“It’s not like Father _stole_ a song,” Mist said, feeling her temper rise.

“I’m just _asking_ —”

“Sothe, leave her alone,” said Zihark, coming up the belowdecks ladder and clapping a hand on Sothe’s bony shoulder. The taller man had his silver hair pulled up in a tiny braid, highlighting the sharpness of his cheeks. “Go and be useful somewhere else, okay?”

Sothe opened his mouth to object, but Zihark squeezed just enough to make his point clear. Sothe rolled his eyes and stood up, retreating to the galley to scrounge up something to eat. Zihark sighed and offered Mist an apologetic smile.

“I hope he wasn’t giving you too much trouble,” he said.

“He’s weird,” Mist said.

Zihark laughed. “He’s got some hard edges on him, but Sothe’s a good kid at heart. I’ve been talking to him a fair bit—he’s all the way from Nevassa. Do you know where that is?”

Mist shook her head.

“It’s Daein’s capital, way up north near the Blacktos Mountains. I’m from Daein myself, but I spent a few years wandering Crimea once my girlfriend…once our relationship ended. Sothe probably never left the country before. I think he was just surprised—and a little confused—why someone from Crimea would know an old Daeinish folk song.”

“I’m sorry,” Mist said.

“What? Don’t be,” Zihark said genially, reaching over to give Mist a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “It was an unexpected treat to hear a country song like that out of the blue. You have a lovely singing voice.”

“Thanks,” Mist said, blushing. “Brother does, too, but he hardly ever sings these days. Father used to say we got it from our mother. She could make songbirds jealous.”

Zihark laughed again and stepped back, giving Mist space.

“Well, see you around, I suppose,” he said. “If you’d like, I’d be more than happy to share a few Daeinish ditties with you. Come find me by the prow; I’m stationed there for the day.”

_My chores are all inside the ship today,_ Mist thought with a frown. _And Soren said it might rain later…ugh. I want to at least_ see _where we’re going before I’m stuck in the hull all day._

She cleared her bowl and headed to the top deck, relishing the fresh air and the tug of the wind on her twin ponytails. She sidestepped Mordecai and Lethe, who were hauling planks from one side of the ship to the other to repair a cracked part of the railing. Mordecai smiled at her nervously. Mist ducked her head and danced out of the way.

She bumped into the side of the aft deck. Two sets of narrow stairs led around the shelter covering the ladder belowdecks to the top where the wheel proudly stood. Curiously, Nasir was standing with his back to the ship, flanked by Soren, Ike, and Titania.

_I wonder what they’re up to,_ Mist thought, creeping closer.

“…chance they would let us go?” Ike was saying to Nasir.

Nasir shook his head slowly, lowering a slender brass spyglass. “Ravens are only interested in wealth and influence—and you can buy influence with enough wealth. They would not take beorc prisoners, because a prisoner is a liability. A corpse can raise neither objection nor retribution.”

Soren tugged on Ike’s sleeve and gestured at Mist. Ike frowned at her but made no move to shoo her away.

“Mist, I thought you had work to do,” he said.

“I know,” Mist replied, “but I wanted to get some fresh air first—what’s going on?”

“We’re being followed,” Nasir said bluntly.

“Kilvas ravens,” Soren added. “Laguz who _often_ raid these waters, according to our intrepid captain.”

Nasir shot him a sour look which Soren ignored. Mist looked worriedly between them.

“Can I see?” she asked.

Ike waved a hand; Nasir handed Mist the spyglass and helped her angle it to see the little cloud of black wings in the distance.

They were ravens, all right—ravens with beorc bodies and wide black wings beating slowly closer through the sky. Thick clouds approaching from the northwest parted around them. The flock was only ten laguz strong, but Mist recalled with a shudder how dangerous even their two laguz cats could be. The spyglass couldn’t pick up individual faces, but sunlight glinted off the silver and bejeweled trinkets adorning the ravens’ necks and wrists. One laguz flying higher than the others raised an arm and set the flock’s pace even faster.

Mist lowered the spyglass and shakily handed it back to Nasir. Titania gave her a sympathetic look, but she stood at attention and waited for Ike’s instructions.

“Commander?” she asked.

Ike knuckled his forehead, eyes closed while he thought. After a moment his jaw set firm.

“Soren, how long until they reach us?” he asked.

“Within minutes at their current pace,” Soren replied. “Three if we’re lucky, two if we aren’t.”

“We need to stick together. Nasir stays here to man the wheel, and I’ll get Mia to help cover him—Soren, I want you at the base of the aft deck to alter the sails if we need to make a sudden turn or stop.”

“Understood,” Soren said, and he brushed past Mist and down the steps, already unlatching his spellbook from its holster.

Mist fidgeted, casting a nervous look at the approaching ravens while Ike relayed the rest of his instructions to Titania. When he finally turned back to her, Mist stuck her hands in her pockets.

“Mist, you—”

“I know, I know,” Mist said, “I’m supposed to take Rolf and the Princess and hide out of sight. Like usual.”

Ike nodded. “Stay belowdecks until one of us gives the all-clear.”

Mist stepped aside to let Ike pass her. She purposefully kept her pace slow as she walked on the main deck. The ship was a hive of activity, bustling with every able-bodied fighter rushing up and down and back and forth putting away anything that could be a tripping hazard and racing to arm themselves.

“Remember, do _not_ strike to kill!” Ike shouted above the din. His red cloak was a banner in the wind. “We don’t want to make enemies with Kilvas—drive them away so they think we aren’t worth chasing. If we hit a current we can outrun them without bloodshed.”

Mist hovered at the belowdecks ladder. Near the center mast, Rolf was unwinding a rope from its anchor point in case the sail needed to swing abruptly, but he was taking an awfully long time.

Mist caught his eye. She nodded.

Rolf nodded back and scurried up to the crow’s nest.

Mist lingered by the ladder, making a point to let Ike see her before she descended. The merchants were still in the main cabin at the dining table, though they were seated in a much tighter huddle than earlier; Elincia was in the galley, bustling through pots and pans.

No one saw Mist when she slipped down to her cabin and back again. Taking a deep breath, she waited in the shadows under the ladder and counted out two long minutes while shouts erupted overhead, keeping a cloth-wrapped bundle pressed against her chest. 

_There’s two minutes,_ she thought. _Rolf hasn’t been caught yet. Okay. You can do this, Mist._

She took one last stabilizing breath and climbed the ladder.

The deck was in turmoil.

The ravens had all shifted into full avian form—torsos as hefty as their beorcian counterpart, covered in glossy black feathers with beaks long and sharp as swords. One of the birds grabbed a healing staff out of Rhys’s hands and threw it over the side of the ship, cackling. Marcia was doing her best to herd the birds away from the sky, but her pegasus shied every time a raven feinted near it, and it was all Marcia could do to stay in the saddle. Once or twice, a raven dove towards Soren, then seemingly had a change of thought and wheeled away without striking him. Soren grimaced and muttered sharp wind spells to harry the birds away from the rest of the company.

“Port! Port!” Nasir yelled from the ship’s wheel.

Mist braced herself against a bolted-down crate as the cog suddenly tilted. Soren flung a wind spell into the two sails to hurry it along, and while they managed to throw off some of the ravens, Mist saw with a lurch in her stomach that the Goldoan coastline was starting to look an awful lot closer.

“Mist! What are you _doing?_ ”

Mist’s stomach dropped. Ike was in front of her, bleeding from two deep scratches on his sword arm, so openly confused and shocked that Mist felt a stab of guilt go through her heart. She clutched her bundle tighter against her chest.

“You aren’t supposed to be up here—Boyd can’t find Rolf, and I don’t need two kids unaccounted for in the middle of a battle,” Ike said. He broke off and quickly spun, striking a shallow cut against a raven’s back. The laguz cawed at him and hopped away, taking wing before Oscar’s lance could catch it. “This is dangerous! Mist, get back belowdecks, now!”

Behind him, Boyd was struggling to hold on to his axe; the raven with more jewelry than any other in the flock was tugging on the wooden shaft with its talons and rapping its beak sharply on Boyd’s head.

“Ow!” Boyd yelled. “Ow, get _off_ , this is mine _,_ I _paid_ for it with my own damn money—!”

The raven clubbed Boyd with its heavy wing and yanked the weapon out of his hands.

“Fool!” they shouted. “What good is trash compared to treasure? King Naesala gave us his blessing to plunder the Laguz Strait, and we’ll take only _quality_ goods—”

Their words broke off with a scream as an arrow lodged itself in the raven’s back. They dropped Boyd’s axe and hopped backward, taking to the air with a harsh slew of caws.

Rolf stood in the crow’s nest with bow in hand and arrow nocked at the next raven he could see.

Mist felt a burst of pride, but Boyd looked downright furious.

“Rolf!” Boyd yelled. “Get the hell down from there _right now!_ ”

Rolf raised his bow and loosed its arrow, catching another raven in the wing and forcing it to turn back. Another arrow went into a raven’s leg. A third went close enough to a raven’s head to make it abandon the chase entirely.

Ike’s mouth was set in a grim line as he watched Rolf and Boyd, his skin pale, his fingers white-knuckled on the hilt of his sword. Blood trickled down his arm.

When he turned to Mist, it took every ounce of courage in her not to run.

“Mist, go to your cabin and stay there,” he ordered.

“Brother, I—”

“Mist. Now.”

Mist stood her ground. She tilted her chin up at her older brother.

“No,” she said.

“Mist, please, I don’t have time for—!”

Mist unwrapped the cloth in her hands. The brass shaft glinted in the sunlight as precious as any of the ravens’ trinkets; the glass dome at one end was polished keen as a crown jewel. Wordlessly Mist leveled the healing staff against Ike’s arm.

“ _Usayi,_ ” she said.

The glass dome glowed. When Mist raised the staff, Ike’s skin was waxy pink and whole.

For a brief second all he did was gape.

“…Mist, when did you—”

“I’m not going to stand by and watch you get hurt anymore!”

Ike stared. Mist blinked back the hot tears pricking at the corner of her eyes and kept her head high, holding her brother’s gaze.

“Rolf and I _hate_ being dead weight,” she went on. “We can _help_ , we can _do_ _something_ instead of hiding every time a bad guy shows their head! All we do is sit and wait and worry about everyone— _please_ , brother. I know how to use this, at least. Let me help.”

There was a pause. Rolf shot another round of arrows from the crow’s nest and sent two ravens retreating towards the stern. Boyd had given up shouting but had planted himself at the base of the mast, so Rolf had no choice but to face him when he came back down. Ike’s grip tightened on his sword hilt.

“…I don’t know how long you two were planning this,” Ike said gravely, “but you and I are going to have a talk later. Stay right behind me and do _not_ get separated.”

Mist gulped. In that moment, Ike’s voice had sounded just like their father’s.

“Y-yes, brother—Commander,” she corrected.

Ike grimaced.

The cog lurched as Nasir turned the wheel; Soren called another green-glowing wind spell to fill the sails and turn them sharply, knocking two ravens into the masts and lodging another beak-first into the sail itself.

Mist stayed three steps behind her brother, ducking whenever a shadow crossed overhead and flinching at the sounds of birds and the bestial growls of Lethe and Mordecai. Ike wove deftly from one end of the ship to the other, keeping the ravens from ganging up on any one individual, yet for all their collective efforts all ten ravens still harassed the ship from every angle.

A shrill whistle made Mist jump. She bumped into Ike’s back and accidentally bonked his knee with her staff.

“Bleed the half-breed!” came a shout from the sky.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Ike muttered.

Above them, a yellow-green wyvern swooped low over the center sail and tackled a raven laguz with its hind claws. Before the laguz could counter, the wyvern’s rider—a soldier with a bright red ponytail in armor black as ink—stabbed it in the neck with her lance.

The wyvern dropped the corpse into the sea.

“Quit lollygagging!” the wyvern rider shouted. “All units, to arms! Glory to the hunt!”

She kicked her wyvern forward, surging with a beat of its batlike wings in a circle around the center mast. Marcia barely got her pegasus out of the way in time.

“Hey, watch it!” Marcia yelled.

The newcomer paid her no mind and tugged her wyvern’s reins down, landing in a heap of scales and membranous wings in front of Ike and Mist. The rider lifted the visor of her helm and gave them an appraising look.

“You have ten seconds to speak your piece before we drive you off this boat,” Ike interrupted before she could say anything.

The rider leaned back with a puzzled expression. “That’s a rude way to talk to someone who’s saving your lives,” she said. “Jill Fizzart, attached to Commander Haar’s battalion, eighth division! I cannot stand by and let a human vessel be attacked by sub-humans, even if you _are_ technically fugitives.”

“Then you’d best leave,” Ike growled.

Jill held up a hand to stop him. Reaching back, she grabbed a lightweight javelin from a holster on her wyvern’s saddle and hurled it at an oncoming raven laguz, spearing it in the heart. The body dropped with a wet thud onto the railing and over the side of the boat. Mist swallowed nervously.

“Don’t be a fool,” Jill said, resuming her talk with Ike as if nothing had happened. “Put aside your pride for one moment and allow me to assist you in bleeding these disgusting half-breeds! At this rate the sub-humans will overrun your company—!”

“Neither I _nor_ my company will accept help from someone who thinks laguz are less than people,” Ike said.

Mist shivered. He’d dipped into their father’s tone—that weight of stone that commanded attention—and Jill seemed to notice it, too, because her eyes widened and she gripped her reins closer.

“We’re on the same side right now!” she insisted. She shook her head, ponytail flying in her wake. “Once I drive off the carrion, you’ll see.”

“Don’t!” Ike shouted after her, but Jill was already aloft, the wings of her wyvern casting wide shadows over the deck.

The battle was short-lived. Once Jill’s wyvern took to the skies—and her javelins found two more laguz hearts—the ravens frantically regrouped well out of reach of the ship and wheeled away, cawing insults behind them that failed to reach Mist’s ears. The six survivors were nothing but black-winged silhouettes as they flew away.

Jill landed her wyvern square in the middle of the ship. The entire company gave her berth. Ignoring them, Jill swung off her saddle and gave her wyvern a loving scratch between the eyes. Behind her, Lethe’s hackles were raised, and she growled open-mouthed at Jill and her mount.

“I’m putting an end to this before things get worse,” Ike said. “Mist—”

“Stay here, I got it,” Mist said wearily.

Ike nodded, and he strode towards Jill, his shoulders set firm.

“Starboard!” Nasir shouted suddenly.

“I am _trying_ , you incessant mosquito,” Soren snapped back, furiously thumbing back to the beginning of his spellbook, “but I am _out_ of wind sigils, and—”

The ship groaned. Mist stumbled backward. To her left, a stretch of rocky beach and low-lying moor loomed closer and closer, far closer than any coastline had been their entire journey—

With a sickening crunch of wood against rock, the ship ground to a halt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks everyone for not yelling at me when i moved the "mist and rolf join the company" bit from map 9 all the way up here to map 12-- i thought it would be more dramatic here in a situation where there is an active enemy from all sides and a confined space. i also wanted to give mist the time to develop a bit and establish her valkyrie mount for later on. :)


	43. Chapter 43

As soon as Ike recovered his balance, he signaled to the company with a flick of his fingers.

“Mia, Mordecai, Lethe,” he ordered, “check for damages along the beach; Soren, Rhys, check for injuries; Marcia, keep an eye out for the ravens in case they make a second sweep. Everyone else delegates to Nasir.”

Lethe glared at the wyvern rider, still growling with her ears flat against her skull, but at Ike’s word she acquiesced, padding off on all fours with her tail fluffed and lashing. She leapt over the side of the boat onto the rocky beach below without waiting for a rope like Mia and Mordecai.

The wyvern rider, Jill, stood with one hand on her hip and the other reaching up to hold her mount’s bridle under the chin. Ike approached her with his mouth set in a grim line.

“Your truce is up,” he said, keeping the pommel of his sword fully visible. “Give me one good reason to let you take up space on our deck, or else you can start flying back to Daein.”

Jill snorted. “I come in saving your lives, and _this_ is the thanks I get?”

“You didn’t save our lives, you murdered four people.”

“Sub-humans aren’t _people_ ,” Jill started, but Ike gave her a look so stony she clammed up. She huffed and busied her hands with fixing her wyvern’s bridle.

The rest of the company was listening to Nasir shouting instructions somewhere behind Ike at the stern, but occasionally someone would peer at him and Jill as if waiting for drama to spark. Ike ignored them. He had far too much to deal with.

“I’m waiting,” he said.

Jill huffed again and gave him a defiant glare. She looked about Ike’s age and was easily his height, ponytail notwithstanding. Her wyvern made an odd woodblock sound in its throat and butted its snout against Jill’s shoulder like a horse prodding for treats.

“I—I have a duty as a soldier of Daein,” Jill said. “I cannot simply let Crimean fugitives roam free! Not after I’ve flown all this way on your pursuit!”

“That’s not the right answer,” Ike replied, shifting his hand to rest on his sword hilt. “If you’re looking to start a fight you’re about three steps away from it. Lethe looked ready to sink her teeth into you. If you’re going to keep spouting anti-laguz sentiment I’ve half a mind to let her actually bite you.”

Jill visibly gulped and leaned her weight back onto her heels.

“I—I do not have to suffer this!” she said. She stomped to her wyvern’s shoulder and fumbled for the stirrup, accidentally stepping on her mount’s wing at first. “Insult me all you like, but you won’t be laughing when I bring the full might of Daein’s wyvern corps upon you!”

“Ahuh,” Ike said flatly.

Jill nudged her heels against her wyvern’s side and took off—Ike ducked to keep from getting whacked on the head by the animal’s wings. He watched her catch an updraft and soar south, not quite far away to be a retreat, but not quite close enough to be a threat, either. Ike frowned. He waved over Soren.

“…Keep an eye on her,” he said in an undertone. “She says she won’t let us roam free, but she seems perfectly content to fly away the moment someone calls her out on her language. I want an extra set of eyes on board the ship at night in case she comes back.”

“Consider it done,” Soren replied.

“What’s the situation?”

“Bad.”

Ike snorted, letting a humorless smile pass over his face. “Forthright as ever,” he said. “Are we in any _active_ danger? We’re not going to sink, are we?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Soren said, “but Nasir is investigating any damages to the hull from the inside. He just left belowdecks.”

“Well, it’s his ship; best leave him to it. If he needs our assistance he can give us a shout.”

Soren made a noncommittal hum and picked at the hem of his sleeves. Ike quickly glanced over him for bloodstains.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Those ravens didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Soren said with a slight bite to his tone. “Not a scratch on me. As it turns out, birds pay just as little attention to me as beasts do. How fortuitous.”

Ike tilted his head, waiting for Soren to say something else, but his friend slipped back to reticence and gestured vaguely at the stern.

“I’m going to take inventory,” he said. “By your leave…?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure, go ahead,” Ike said.

Soren nodded at him and slipped away, maneuvering around the center mast and through the door belowdecks. Mist was miraculously where Ike had left her, standing to the side of the overhang underneath a lantern. That damned healing staff was still in her hands.

“Help Rhys,” Ike told her, “but don’t leave the ship.”

“Yes, brother,” Mist sighed. Ike winced. She looked like she’d eaten rotten fruit by the twist of guilt on her face.

Rolf had finally come down from the crow’s nest and was huddled between Boyd and Oscar taking a tongue-lashing from both brothers at once. Whatever foolishness he and Mist had planned, joining the fray on a tight-quartered ship’s deck facing aerial enemies was _not_ the place to do it.

Ike waited until Mist had safely gone to Rhys’s side before he rubbed his eyes.

 _Pacing up here stewing in my own thoughts won’t do me any good_. _May as well see if I can help move the ship._

A wide rope net hung over the railing; Ike descended one handhold at a time and landed on the shore, boots sinking into the smooth brown-and-tan pebbles. The beach stretched like a raptor’s claw to the east and was met with moor and tall marsh grass leading inland. Pale crags broke the horizon line past the moors, and dark shapes like birds coasted in the far distance.

But the ship wouldn’t budge. Ike shoved until his shoulder guard was scuffed and his socks were soaked with water, until every available hand except Nasir’s and Soren’s had had their turn throwing their weight against the clinker paneling to dislodge the boat from the shore. The sun climbed to its zenith and still the boat was beached. Sweat rolled off Ike’s forehead as he re-tied his headband.

“Anything?” he called up to the deck.

“No luck,” Titania called back down, her braid hanging like a pendulum. “Nasir says there are poles to help dislodge the ship, but he hasn’t been able to find them.”

“Well, he’d better hurry,” Ike said. “We don’t want to be stuck here when the sun goes down.”

Titania waved and disappeared; Ike sighed, rubbing his eyes again. Out past the moors, those birdlike shapes coasted closer on a low air current. Ike squinted at them.

“Commander?” Mia asked as Ike walked past her. “Where’re you goin’?”

“I feel useless standing around here,” Ike told her without breaking his stride. The pebbly beach was difficult to walk on, but the silt underfoot was more solid the closer he got to the backshore. “I’m going to see if there’s anything up here that can help.”

“Mordecai does not think that is good idea,” Mordecai rumbled.

“Nothing’s getting done waiting around like this,” Ike replied. “I’m just going to see what I can see. I’ll be right back.”

Spongy soil and rough coast grass spread beneath Ike’s boots as he climbed onto the moor. Pockmarked patches of puddles and marsh mud smelled like sour milk and saltwater and made his nose crinkle. Humidity clung to the air thick as campfire smoke and just as dense to breathe.

Ike lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. Those dark specks were a lot closer than they had been.

One looked like it was carrying an animal in its claws.

“Ike!” Mordecai shouted from the beach.

Ike started to turn, but a rush of wind flattened the grass around him and nearly knocked him off his feet. The ground shook as three sets of quadrupedal talons slammed into the moor not fifty feet away, batlike wings blocking the sunlight, serpentine necks arced and tails slithering in the grass.

Ike swallowed.

Staring down at him were three dragon laguz the size of small houses.

Two red dragons flanked a smaller black between them; the larger of the two reds gripped an antelope in its front claws that was still bloody from the kill. Bony scutes covered the reds’ backs and limbs and gave their scales the faceted appearance of freshly dug spinel. The red dragons’ horns curved forward on their skulls like bulls’ horns, and their muscles rippled underneath their scales.

The black was comparatively small and more restrained; he tilted his wings behind him and cocked his narrow head curiously at Ike with a glint of a smile in his red eyes. His horns were spikes that swept backwards from his skull and down his spine, rimmed with gold around the base, and severe spikes like thorns on a thistle clattered at the end of his tail. Small fin-like wings protruded from his forearms, and smoother scutes than the reds’ covered his legs and back.

All three sat and looked at Ike as if waiting for him to speak his piece.

“…Uh,” Ike said after a beat. “…Hey.”

The smaller red bared his teeth in a snarl.

“This is Goldoan territory,” he growled. “Outsiders are not permitted. Retrace your steps and begone from here at once.”

“We can’t—our ship is grounded,” Ike started to explain, gesturing over his shoulder at the beach. “We’re trying to get it dislodged, but—”

“That is not our concern,” said the other red, the one holding the antelope carcass. “Beorc affairs stay with beorc.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Ike exclaimed. “We’re literally stranded!”

The red dragon dug his claws into the dead antelope and growled deep like hollow logs knocking together in a windstorm.

The black dragon raised his foreleg and silenced the red with a single gesture.

“Gareth, cease your hostilities,” he said, his voice soft-spoken but sure as steel. He turned to Ike and offered him a toothy smile. “I apologize for my countrymen; we have not had beorc visitors in many long years. I had hoped they would remember their manners, but clearly they are not ready to handle foreign negotiation without guidance after all.”

The red dragons bowed their chins in deference. Ike was dimly aware of voices and footsteps scrambling on the beach somewhere behind him, but he didn’t turn to look—not while he was within biting range of three dragons.

“You are not in danger,” said the black dragon. “Speak freely.”

“Sure,” Ike said, “but it’s kind of hard to talk to you when I have to crane my neck up like this.”

The black dragon laughed like the wind. In an instantaneous burst of magic he shifted forms, adopting the look of a short young man hardly eighteen with deep olive skin and dark black-green hair cut in a simple bob. Smaller horns like the ones in his animal form adorned his temples and the back of his jawbone, and while he didn’t have wings on his back, he retained the flare-like wings on his forearms. He took a moment to pull leather bracers from a bag at his hip and tie them over the fins. His nails were dense and sharp as claws.

Ike just stared.

“What may I call you?” asked the laguz.

“Ike.”

“Ike. A fine name. I am Kurthnaga, Prince of Goldoa.”

“…Okay,” Ike said, the implications finally sinking in. _First the Princess of Crimea, then the King of Gallia, now the Prince of Goldoa… at this rate I’m going to need Soren’s help keeping track of all the royals I’ve met and somehow_ not _offended. But if he’s a prince, that’s our ticket out of here._

The prince smiled pleasantly at Ike. He was certainly short—barely Mist's height—but his clothes screamed royalty from silk cloak to gold embroidery to fine leather boots that had not a scuff on them. On his forehead was a mark as if someone had dipped a pen in red ink and drawn a beautiful diamond-shaped crest like a signature on paper. Kurthnaga caught Ike staring and tapped the marking with a graceful finger.

“My laguz mark,” he explained. “I take it you are unfamiliar?”

“I—no, actually,” Ike said. “We’re traveling with a couple laguz from Gallia; they have marks on their cheeks. Our captain has a marking like that though.”

 _And Soren, but his is something about spirit protection,_ Ike thought, keeping that to himself.

“Gallians?” Kurthnaga tilted his head. “How curious. What brings you so far south? And by sea, no less? It must be an interesting tale. Will you tell me your story?”

“As much as I’d love to stand around in soggy boots and make small talk,” Ike said dryly, “we got attacked by Kilvan pirates and ran aground. You might have noticed the merchant ship currently sitting on the rocks behind me? If you’re a prince, can you, I don’t know, _do_ something about that?”

Kurthnaga’s eyebrows shot up. The red dragons beside him kneaded their claws. Coils of smoke rose from their nostrils.

 _…Aaaand so much for not offending a royal,_ Ike thought with a wince, but Kurthnaga only laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Ike asked.

“Forgive me,” Kurthnaga said, “I am simply not used to being addressed in such a direct manner. My apologies.”

“I—no, I should apologize,” Ike said, rubbing the back of his neck. “My father always scolded me on bad etiquette. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Kurthnaga waved a hand loosely. “Please, pay it no mind,” he said. “I admit that being so isolated lends itself to overwhelming curiosity when the opportunity presents itself. As much as I would love to invite you and your… several dozen associates—” He peered past Ike at the beach before returning his attention. “—for oolong tea and casual conversation, I am afraid it will have to wait for another time. I’m more concerned about your own misfortune. Kilvas, you said?”

“Yeah,” Ike said, shuffling in place, still tense with the two full-grown dragons in view. “They came at us out of the blue and drove us against the rocks.”

“Damned ravens,” the red dragon holding the antelope grumbled.

“Hush, Gareth,” Kurthnaga said. “This is troubling indeed. The ravens are getting bolder by the day…this cannot stand. My father shall lodge a formal protest with Kilvas, I assure you. In the meantime, please urge your associates to move back so as not to get stepped on.”

Kurthnaga turned to the red dragons and said something to them that was all growls and woodblock noises. Ike barely had time to call to those on the beach and wave his arms before the dragons descended down the shore and into the water. They ducked their heads underwater, growled at each other, and then dug in their claws and shoved their forelegs against the boat, angling up and over. With a groan the cog shuddered into the water and bobbed, freeform, in the waves.

The beach cheered. Mia even stood on Mordecai’s shoulders to clap higher than anyone else. The two dragons skirted the beach and took up position beside their prince again. Gareth curled his claws protectively around the antelope carcass.

 _I eat a lot of meat, but I’m not eating_ that _,_ Ike thought, eying Gareth. The dragon narrowed his eyes at him anyway.

“And there you are,” Kurthnaga said pleasantly. “You may continue your travels without issue. Is there anything else you require? If you need food or fresh water we can replenish your supplies.”

Ike tried to keep his stomach from rumbling. Belatedly he realized he’d skipped lunch just trying to shove the boat free.

“That’d be great, thank you,” he said. “We have another four weeks before we reach our destination, and our food is down to stale bread and hard tack. Anything fresh would be wonderful.”

“It shall be done.”

Kurthnaga turned and said something to the smaller dragon, who bowed his head and took off with a massive beat of his wings. Ike stood his ground even as the grass flattened underneath the rush of wind.

“Galahad will bring a supply of food from a nearby cache,” Kurthnaga explained.

“Will you accept gold as payment?” Ike asked. “I know Goldoa might not want Crimean currency, but…”

Kurthnaga _tsk_ ed. “Please, do not trouble yourself with repayment,” he said, smiling broadly. Ike tried not to shiver at the sharp incisors in the prince’s otherwise beorcian mouth. “Consider it a gift.”

“That’s an awfully generous gift,” Ike said. He could almost hear Soren in the back of his head muttering about ulterior motives. “You could have easily ignored us and left us to die.”

“‘Sweet courtesy is ever the herald of hospitality’,” Kurthnaga recited. “Is that a sufficient explanation for my actions?”

“Not really. We’re not technically guests.”

“Ah, but I would treat you as if you were. My father does not…enjoy…foreign visitors, especially beorc. We are to host a Gathering between allies at the next new moon. Father has already pulled a wing muscle from the stress.”

Kurthnaga broke off for a moment to direct Galahad overhead to drop supplies at the ship. Ike looked over his shoulder—most of the company who was on the beach had waded back to the ship, although Mordecai was waiting patiently at the backshore like an escort. He caught Ike’s eye and tiptoed closer.

“Still, I must insist you accept this extension of my hospitality,” Kurthnaga continued. “Consider it a personal gift from Goldoa’s prince.”

Ike came close to shaking his head and stopped himself just in time. Kurthnaga’s eyes glinted playfully.

“Though,” Kurthnaga said, “if I have made you uncomfortable, and you feel you must decline…”

“No—we—” Ike stammered, “—on behalf of the Greil Mercenaries and our friends, I will gladly accept your kindness.” _That sounds flowery enough, right?_

“I am so pleased you understand.”

A whiff of fur and leather came upon the breeze; Mordecai had shuffled up to Ike’s flank and was standing awkwardly in his beorc form, picking at the hair on his arms.

“Ike,” he mumbled, “Nasir says we depart now. Mordecai also encourages haste.”

Kurthnaga’s slender ears were stationary, but Ike could imagine them perking up from the brief flash in the prince’s eyes. Kurthnaga bowed low from the waist, sunlight shimmering on the drape of his silk cloak.

“May your sails find swift waters,” he said.

“And may your, uh, dragons find… good hunting?” Ike said. Kurthnaga’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “By your leave, we’ll head on out. Thank you again.”

“My pleasure.”

Ike resisted the urge to sprint back to the boat, every nerve drawn taut from social anxiety and the looming threat of talking to someone who could easily knock you to the ground with a single blow if they so chose. He had to grab the rope net twice before securing a hold.

“Remind me to never talk to a dragon again,” he said to Mordecai as they climbed.

“Mordecai tried to stop you…”

By the time the sails were raised and the wind was at their backs, Ike was weary enough to collapse onto his bunk and sleep the rest of the day, but he forced himself to check in with everyone he saw on injuries and general status. As the ship rounded the edge of the beach, those on deck shouted and began to wave. Ike looked out at the moors.

Kurthnaga had shifted back into a full dragon and had reared onto his hind legs, tail splayed for balance. He was waving with both a foreleg and an entire wing.

“Farewell, Ike and associates!” he called. “Safe travels!”

Ike raised a hand weakly to wave back before letting himself settle with a slump against the center mast.

“So, you’ve met the dragon prince,” came a dry voice from somewhere above Ike’s shoulder. “Your continued streak of reckless luck is both impressive and slightly worrying.”

Ike glanced up; Nasir had come over to the mast and was standing in its shadow, shielded from the sun by the broad sail overhead. He’d drawn his muslin robes tightly around his chest to keep them from tugging in the wind.

“There you are, Nasir,” Ike said. “I thought you would’ve come out to talk to the prince—since you’re the ship’s captain, after all.”

“I am uncomfortable around dragons,” Nasir said. “I thought it best to keep belowdecks until we’d put the beach behind us.”

“It’s behind us, all right,” Ike said. Past the railing, the slopes of Goldoa’s coastline receded with each swell of the sea. A hearty wave broke against the side of the ship, casting spray up and over onto the deck. Ike shifted his boots out of the way.

“Then I shall resume my managerial tasks,” Nasir said. “The wind is picking up; I need to check on the conditions of our sails lest we beach ourselves from carelessness.”

“Have you seen Soren around?”

“He has taken to one of his sour moods,” Nasir said with a slight curl of the lip. “I saw him briefly as I was checking the interior for damages. I believe he has holed himself up in your cabin.”

A twinge of sympathy twisted in Ike’s chest.

“I’ll go check on him later,” he said, resting his head back against the mast. “I need a bit of time to rest, myself. Talking to dragons took more out of me than I thought.”

“They tend to do that, yes.” Nasir shifted his sleeves and tugged them closer around his arms. “It may be summer, but a chill wind blows along the Laguz Strait. If you intend to linger abovedecks you’d do well to keep yourself warm.”

“Thanks for the concern,” Ike said wryly.

Nasir inclined his head and strode past in a whirl of cloth and wavy hair. For a brief moment the wind tousled his hair behind his ears, exposing their long tapered points, but Nasir quickly tugged his hair back and was gone from view.

Ike let out a low breath and closed his eyes, letting the sunlight warm him. He was napping before long, drifting as the boat sailed on, thoughts of dragons and shapeshifting laguz running through his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i sketched some tellius dragons the other day: i.imgur.com/KI1OoHu.png  
> i know my interpretations of their designs aren't strictly canon but their official model anatomy hurts my art brain
> 
> also i really wanted to give the dragon laguz more morphological features in their beorcian forms! i like to imagine they have patches of scales on their backs/shoulders as well
> 
> thanks for reading, hope y'all are okay with the fact that this fic is gonna be like.... 500k or some absurd wordcount by the end of it 😬


	44. Chapter 44

The moment Soren’s boots touched the planks of the main cabin he felt his nerves pull taut as bowstrings.

Stress was a force he knew intimately, and yet despite his best mental precautions, the moment everything spiraled out of his control was the moment that barrier began to crack at the edges.

And the only way to fix a crack was to mend it before anyone saw.

He stepped around the ladder leading abovedecks and passed through the main cabin, skirting the dining table and its two long benches, and scoured the wood-plank siding for any damages. The glass in each iron-bordered porthole was intact, thankfully, but Soren didn’t let himself relax. He paused outside Elincia’s cabin long enough to judge she was still inside before he went below, pacing from one end of the hull to the other and peering into storerooms for water leaks, only content when everything else was orderly and accounted for. The cabin housing the mercenaries’ weapons was a mess—no one had bothered to replace things nicely in their scrabble for arms against the ravens—and Soren muttered under his breath the entire time it took for him to put things back in order. If Volke was around, he was a ghost. The merchants had holed themselves up in their storeroom at the fore once the ship beached, and Soren could hear Aimee’s voice from halfway down the passageway—he left them alone without a second thought.

The horses at the stern whinnied and stamped their hooves when he returned that way. Soren sighed.

“Be _quiet_ , you dumb beasts,” he snapped at them. “You aren’t sinking. So quit your stomping before you _actually_ break a hole in the ship.”

The largest horse, Greil’s old destrier, snorted loudly and neighed at Soren. Soren rolled his eyes and turned his back, climbing up the ladder to the relatively fresher air.

When he returned to the main cabin, he wasn’t alone.

Nasir sat at the large chair at the head, legs crossed and posture slack like a ruler on a throne, his long hair loose and pulled back behind his ears. He had a clay teapot set on a tray before him and was sipping from a tall clay cup of the same hue. Steam curled around his nose and brushed against the wisps of his bangs. Soren’s nose crinkled; the tea smelled so strongly of sweet anise it was practically suffocating even a table’s length away.

Nasir raised his eyes to Soren’s and inclined the teacup politely.

“What are _you_ doing down here?” Soren asked.

Nasir took a long sip of tea and set the cup down, curling his ring-adorned fingers around it. He tapped his forefinger against the cup thoughtfully.

“Merely enjoying a moment’s respite before something else inevitably goes wrong,” Nasir said.

“I thought you were supposed to check the hull for leaks. I didn’t see you.”

“I did earlier—you must have been in a storeroom. There were no leaks. Ergo, I am taking a break.”

Soren crossed his arms. Through the porthole at his left he could see the beach below milling with people, most of them resigned to wait on the rocks for inspiration. It had been forty long minutes since they’d run aground and they had not a shred of progress to show for it.

_Idiots. At least try to look for tools,_ Soren thought, scowling through the glass even though he was too high for them to see. _The moors could have materials to form a rudimentary lever. Gather enough firm poles, balance them against the larger rocks taken from the backshore, and you have a basis for dislodging the boat._

Yet as much as Soren wanted to go outside and snap some sense into them, he stayed in place, stock-still and waiting just as stupidly as the others. His skin crawled. He rubbed his hands against his arms, letting the friction of his sleeves drive out other sensations, but uneasiness nestled in the hollow of his chest. He kept glancing at the moors in the distance and the pale mist-covered peaks beyond, watching the landscape with wary eyes.

“I’d have thought you’d be outside with the others,” Nasir said, breaking Soren from his own thoughts. Soren gave him a sour look; Nasir poured more tea into his cup and inhaled the sweet scent.

“Not everyone is outside,” Soren replied. “Only half the company—the others are abovedecks evaluating our equipment and repairing what the s—what the ravens damaged.”

“Still. It’s odd to see Ike without you trailing his footsteps.”

Soren narrowed his eyes at Nasir. “And that means…?”

“Nothing. Merely an observation.”

Nasir closed his eyes and took a long drink. Soren kept glaring at him until he set the cup down and noticed.

“We’re on Goldoan shores,” Nasir added. He met Soren’s eyes neutrally and tilted his chin at the porthole nearest him. “I would think a mercenary commander would want their tactical officer nearby in case they needed advice. You certainly like to tell people their business without provocation.”

Soren shifted his arms, fingernails digging into his sleeves. He measured the seconds like the weight of a pendulum in the old clock back at the fort. Nasir, to his credit, didn’t press, but Soren could hear the subtle jab at his mannerisms hanging in the air between them.

“…Laguz do not treat me kindly,” he said after a few minutes. “I’d rather avoid inciting another incident when we’re already in a precarious position. Ike does not need me starting fights with Goldoan dragons.”

He grimaced. That ‘incident’ had almost cost them Gallia’s aid, all because Soren had given in to impulse and irrational ferocity.

_They don’t care about anyone but themselves. They’d let you starve rather than give you charity. An animal has no need for pity or remorse._

His nails dug into his arms.

“And what about you?” Soren asked, turning the conversation back on Nasir. “You’re the ship’s captain. Surely _you_ would be the one to march upon the shore the moment you deemed your ship undamaged instead of leisurely drinking tea while your ship—and half your charge’s escort—are out on foreign shores without warrant.”

Nasir’s lip curled; Soren wasn’t sure if it was merely a twitch or a latent threat. A shiver ran down his spine all the same.

“I do not deal with dragons,” Nasir said plainly.

“Yet you have no issue taking their artifacts.”

“That dulcimer I’ve lent the Princess was one I traded for in Begnion. As were the tapestries hanging in my own quarters.”

_Ah, so it_ is _more than just one instrument,_ Soren thought. _That confirms my suspicions. The weaving style differs from Crimean tapestries, and the Gallians are too proud of hanging dead things from sticks to bother learning fine loomwork._

He opened his mouth to ask about Nasir’s questionable trading practices, but the look the other man was giving him made Soren’s mouth go dry. Nasir was studying his face with the evaluating look of a butcher choosing a cut of meat.

“…What,” Soren said flatly.

“That’s a curious birthmark,” Nasir said, leaning back in his chair to take a sip of tea. It was hard to tell from this far down the table, but his eyes were narrowed like a cat’s, and the steam off his cup made his pupils look just as slit-thin and suspicious.

Soren bristled. “It’s not a— _technically_ it’s the mark of a spirit charmer. One who made a pact with elemental spirits to funnel their magic and ward their protection.”

“I thought spirit charmers had to intentionally make a pact…?”

“Not always. Some scrolls mention charmers who make a pact without realizing—often in dream states mistaken for reality.”

“Is that what happened with you?”

“I can’t remember. I’ve had the mark since I was a child.”

Nasir hummed through closed lips.

“Interesting,” was all he said.

Soren watched Nasir warily as he drank the dregs from his cup and set it down to pour out the last of the tea. His eyes never quite left Soren’s forehead.

Soren hugged his arms around his chest. He leaned towards the porthole.

Outside, Ike was walking towards the moors, speaking with Mia and Mordecai on his way over the pebbly shore.

_Where are you_ going _, Ike?_ Soren thought with a twinge of fear. _Did you forget where we are—? Actually, that’s entirely possible,_ he corrected himself. _I once saw him forget what he had for breakfast literally five minutes after eating it._

“It’s odd,” Nasir said off-handedly. “I didn’t know other laguz hated spirit charmers.”

“Pardon?” Soren said.

“I’ve seen the way Lethe looks at you when Ike isn’t around,” Nasir continued, falling back into his nonchalant manner of speaking, teacup held to his lips. “Like she’d want nothing more than to snap your neck in her jaws.”

Soren shivered. That mental image had come scarily close to happening.

“You’re laguz, too—” Soren started.

“A secret I like to keep quiet,” Nasir said, a warning flash in his eyes.

“Then it’s not as close a secret as you like,” Soren said. “Even if you didn’t tell me and Ike at that inane meeting with Princess Elincia, I know you’re drinking heartbleed, which is an herb that causes severe chest pain and fever in humans. Sweet anise is the only plant that can mask its scent. I doubt you would be religiously drinking an herb that intentionally causes heart complications unless you were taking a sadistic approach to building up immunity to it. Therefore, you’re not human.”

Nasir set the teacup down.

His eyes were slits.

“…You’re awfully bright,” he said.

“Don’t insult my intelligence.”

“It wasn’t an insult, it was a compliment.”

Soren huffed and turned away, fidgeting with his sleeves. He listened for an intake of breath from Nasir, any indication the man was preparing another elusive speech or subtle dig, but Nasir seemed content to let the conversation lull.

Nasir was still watching him when Soren looked over his shoulder.

“What?” Soren snapped at him.

“Are you always this rude when people speak with you?”

“Only when they happen to grate on my nerves,” Soren growled. “Tell me this, if laguz hate spirit charmers so much—enough to deny them and pretend they don’t exist—what’s stopping you from attacking me right now? Why help us at all knowing I’m a strong enough mage to have made a pact?”

“I have no qualms with spirit charmers,” Nasir said smoothly. “And my help is not to you _or_ your commander but as a favor to King Caineghis and his aide. Ranulf paid me with money from the King of Gallia himself. The Princess of Crimea is in his good graces, and ferrying her and her escort to Begnion is a beneficial opportunity for me.”

Noise erupted outside, shouts and scrambles over the stony beach, and before Soren could look outside to check—

The boat lurched.

Soren fumbled for balance and knocked his hip against the table, digging his fingernails into the wood to hold on as the boat _shifted_ , tilting as a massive weight shoved against it up and over the rocks along the shore. With a heave the cog slid free and bobbed in the displaced waves.

As soon as he regained his footing, Soren checked the porthole. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Outside the ship were two massive red dragons as long as the two-story buildings in Toha had been tall. Their gray wings buffeted the side of the ship as they turned towards the shore.

One of them craned his long snout up, nostrils wide as if he could smell something foul on the wind. A yellow eye glanced towards the ship.

Soren shrank back from the porthole.

Neither him nor Nasir spoke until the dragons were far enough away, until the cheers from the beach subsided, until the company clambered for the nets to climb aboard and Ike was making his farewells to the laguz on the moors. Nasir’s clay teapot had slid precariously close to the edge of the table, saved only by the friction of its underlying tray and Nasir’s own hand curled clawlike around the handle.

Soren retreated without a word to his and Ike’s cabin. He latched the sliding door shut and paced the narrow space from door to deck and back again, grateful that their side of the ship looked towards Phoenicis and not Goldoa.

_Laguz hate spirit charmers,_ he thought, stumbling into the cabin’s meager furniture as the ship swayed. He shoved the desk chair back into its place with more force than necessary. _All right. That doesn’t make sense, but it makes more sense than what I thought before, so until it’s proven otherwise, that is what I’ll believe. Somehow, being tied to magic makes those…makes them not give a damn what happens to you. I need books. I need_ something _to find facts from all these unbased guesses…_

Ike found him three hours later walking the same circuit across the floorboards.

“Careful,” Ike said, catching Soren by the shoulder as he came into the cabin. “Don’t fall over, now.”

“I’m fine,” Soren said, although he’d been pacing for so long that once Ike stopped him he felt faintly dizzy. Soren closed his eyes with his hand against his head until it passed. “Just thinking.”

“You do more of that than this entire ship put together,” Ike said, sitting on the bottom bunk. He stifled a yawn behind his hand.

“Tired?” Soren asked.

“I just took a nap on the deck—if anything, I’m sunburnt.”

“Rhys should have salve for that.”

“Yeah, I’m going to see him next, but I wanted to check on you first.” Ike looked up at Soren, concern knitting his brow. “Nasir told me you’d be in here.”

“Did he say anything else?” Soren asked.

“Just that you were in a ‘sour mood’,” Ike said with half a smile. “Are you okay? You’re not sick, are you?”

“As I said, I’m fine. I wanted to avoid ruining any possible laguz negotiations. Beasts and birds don’t care for me and I had no desire to try the theory with a dragon.”

Ike winced. His arm had healed quickly from Mordecai’s accidental bite, but Soren had no doubt that a dragon laguz would have made a worse mark—one that even a healing staff couldn’t fix.

“I don’t think you needed to worry about that,” Ike said. “The red dragons, maybe, but they hushed up once we actually started talking. Apparently I made friends with the Prince of Goldoa.”

Soren blinked. “You _what?_ ”

“He wasn’t wearing a crown, but he was definitely a noble,” Ike continued, “and he said his name was Prince Kurthnaga. He kinda looked like you, come to think of it. I mean, when he wasn’t a dragon that could take up a whole house.”

Soren rubbed his temples. Of course the one time he wasn’t there—out of his own cowardice more than anything—Ike walks into the literal royal prince of a nation. At least he didn’t set off a war.

“He gave us fresh food and water, too,” Ike added. “Titania and Mist are helping Oscar sort through it in the galley.”

“And I’m assuming you accepted the provisions,” Soren said, suppressing a groan, “because you trusted he had no ulterior motives, when in actuality accepting foreign aid puts us in _debt_ to said foreigners?”

“I thought about that, actually!” Ike grinned. “You’d be so proud; but, no, Kurthnaga insisted it was a gift. I even offered to pay him. He said something about hospitality and… oolong, I think?”

“That’s a type of tea.”

“I figured; there’s a few boxes of tea leaves in with the provisions he gave us. But honestly, out of everything that could have possibly gone wrong…we got really, really lucky. Hopefully our luck continues until we reach Begnion.”

Ike sighed again and rolled his shoulders as he stood—and had to duck to avoid smacking his head against the top bunk frame. Soren retreated with his lower back against the desk to give him space.

“Anyway,” Ike said, “since I napped for a bit, I can take early watch tonight instead of Boyd.”

“I’ll make a note.”

“And I need to talk to Mist before she gets it in her head that she’s off the hook for that stunt she and Rolf pulled,” Ike added, fixing his headband and frowning at the state of his hair. His fluffy blue hair had gone spiky from the wind and salt, making it look like an unshelled chestnut.

Soren’s fingers twitched. He suddenly wanted to smooth out the worst of the cowlicks—he had a better eye for detail, after all—but Ike finished finger-combing his hair before Soren could work up the courage to ask.

“The brothers said they’re fine with Rolf’s archery as long as he’s exclusively in the rear of any formations, but Mist, I…” Ike sighed. “I don’t know. They’re both kids. I don’t want to carry their deaths on my shoulders.”

“If they’re smart, they won’t die,” Soren said plainly.

Ike frowned. “That’s… true, but I’d rather they avoid fighting altogether. I don’t know. Mist can be so stubborn when she gets an idea in her head sometimes…I’ll have a talk with her before dinner.”

He crossed to the door, unlatched it, and slid it partway open before turning back to look at Soren. The ambient light from the afternoon sun cast a warm glow around Ike’s face. Soren awkwardly tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.

“You sure you’re okay?” Ike asked.

“I’m fine, Ike.”

“Okay. I’ll see you at dinner, then.”

Ike caught Soren’s eye and gave him a fleeting smile. He’d forgotten to smooth out his bangs; they stuck out like pine trees above his dark green headband.

Soren, despite himself, smiled shyly back.

Once Ike slid the door shut and his footsteps were gone, Soren latched the door and went back to the desk, pulling out the leather folio and his ledgers to mark the change in the watch schedule. He drummed his fingers against the desk. Taking a notebook from his small pile of books, Soren ripped out the pages with actual notes on them and set them aside, picking up pen and ink to write out replacement wind spells.

He wasted five pages of improperly drawn sigils before he got the image of Ike’s wind-tousled hair out of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made a high-effort meme just for this chapter: i.imgur.com/kxr92vT.png
> 
> thanks for reading, take care of yourselves and be safe


	45. Chapter 45

Mist kept herself busy all afternoon, but it was only a matter of time before her brother found her.

She was waiting on the starboard side of the ship, arms folded on top of the railing, watching the water drift and mill around the boat as it cruised. Her hair was pulled back, but the wind still caught her knee-length skirts and folded them around her legs, making her shiver whenever the fabric brushed her bare skin. The deck was fairly deserted: Marcia was coasting directly above the ship, and Mordecai was taking down laundry on a line strung between the masts, but everyone else was either belowdecks waiting for dinner or was too far away to bother Mist.

Mist sighed. She tried not to fidget, but it was a nervous habit, especially knowing she’d done something wrong and only had herself to blame.

The sun was finally setting, brushing the ocean with gold and deep orange and outlining the sharp-peaked Phoenician Islands against the skyline. Mist heard the scuff of boots coming closer and resisted the urge to turn around.

“Hey, Mist.”

Mist took a deep breath and finally looked, trying not to let her brother see how worried she was. Ike came up and stood beside her, leaning forward on the ship’s railing just as she had been. He ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier,” he said.

“I…I know I should have told you what Rolf and I were doing,” Mist said, “but then you would’ve said no.”

“That’s kind of the idea.”

“But I’m fifteen! I can take care of myself!”

Ike scratched his neck. “I’m starting to get why Father didn’t want me in the proper company after all. It’s not easy, seeing your family put themselves at risk. Especially since you’re sounding an awful lot like me.”

Mist looked down at the water.

“How long were you and Rolf planning your stunt?”

“Since Gallia,” Mist said quietly. “Not long after Father died. We figured, well, since we’d been doing such a good job keeping Princess Elincia safe, we could help our family, too. So that nothing like that night could ever happen again. But Rolf kept chickening out, and I still didn’t _really_ know how to use a healing staff…so we waited. And I did kind of take one of Rhys’s staves without asking. I…I’m sorry, brother. We just wanted to help. _I_ just want to help.”

Ike was quiet for a long while. Mist waited as long as she could bear—her brother liked his thoughtful silences, him and Soren both, content enough to sit without speaking for hours at a time. Mist picked at the wood on the railing.

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Ike said softly. “A little too well, if I’m honest. It would tear me apart if anything happened to you.”

“Me, too, brother. That’s why I want to do this. I want to be strong and hold my own so you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

Ike ran a hand behind his neck again. Eventually he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Soren said you had natural talent for magic, you know,” he said.

Mist snorted. “What, really? That’s high praise coming from him.”

“It’s true. He said you had more innate magic than the average person—more than me, at least.”

“You’re not exactly the ‘average person’, Ike.”

“Sometimes I feel like I am. An average person knows better than to send their only family into a battle without giving them any training.”

He sighed.

“If you want to be out in the field with us—and that’s really something you want—then… then I’ll allow it. But not without restrictions. I’m officially assigning Rhys as your mentor—listen to him, learn from him, and don’t burn yourself out trying to take on too much at once. Return the staff you ‘borrowed’ and start over with basic healing lessons.”

Mist squealed and wrapped her arms around Ike’s chest before he could react—belatedly he put his arms around her back and hugged her in return.

“Oh, thank you, brother, thank you!” Mist said. “I promise I’ll be careful!”

“You’d better be,” Ike said, pushing at Mist’s shoulders to get her to release him. “I won’t always be able to keep an eye on you. That means you need to stay with people who can protect you, and you need to learn self-defense—I don’t want you anywhere near a fight like what happened on the ship today unless you know basic combat maneuvers.”

“Sure, sure,” Mist said. She rolled her eyes. “As long as I don’t have to learn from Boyd; he’s annoying enough as it is.”

“No, if I put Boyd in charge of anything, his ego would inflate so much he’d float off the ship and we’ll never see him again.”

Mist laughed; Ike joined in a beat later. She looked at her brother—really looked at him, his face framed by sunset, bangs sticking up and cape draped over his shoulders. That night in Gallia still haunted them both, but at least Ike was starting to look more like himself.

“Father would be really proud of you, you know,” Mist said quietly.

“I hope so,” Ike murmured. He stared out at sea, leaning over the railing to let the spray brush his cheeks. “I’m just doing what I can with what I have. That’s all I can really hope for.”

They stood side by side watching the water. Phoenicis’s rocky islands loomed at them from the horizon. Now and again, birds wheeled far out to sea, too big to be normal gulls and thankfully uninterested in the boat sliding through their waters.

“Those ravens were something else,” Mist said. “They were so big—and so fast! But then those dragons were _huge!_ And they were so nice, too. I wish I could’ve met the prince; he sounded really sweet.”

“It’s odd,” Ike said. “First, those Kilvans attacked us, but then the Goldoans helped us…and they’re both laguz. But it’s weird to think of them both that way when they behaved so differently. Is that strange?”

“No, I think I get it,” Mist said. “Kinda, anyway. It’s like there’s good and bad beorc. Crimea’s good, Daein’s bad.”

“But black and white thinking like that is what’s driven this rift so deeply in the first place. It’s easy to think that one entire group is ‘good’ or ‘bad’ just based on the actions of a few—King Ashnard is objectively a bad person, but does that make everyone in Daein bad, too? Princess Elincia is a good person, and so was King Ramon—at least from what Father and King Caineghis told me…”

“…but then all those people in Crimea turned against Ranulf when we tried to leave the port,” Mist said.

“Toha,” Ike muttered. His brow creased. “I still can’t believe how cruel those people were—all because Ranulf was a laguz and not a beorc. Up until they realized what he was, they seemed such kind and decent people. I just… I had no idea beorc prejudice against laguz was so strong. Even in Crimea! Why do they hate laguz so much? How are myself and Ranulf so different, or you and Lethe?” He paused. “I mean, aside from the obvious…”

Mist giggled—the mental image of her or her brother with cats’ ears was too good.

“I think they were just scared,” she said. She fiddled with her skirts. “I was, too, at first. When I saw how they could change shape… even when they look like beorc, they have sharper teeth and can really hiss and, and _growl!_ I was frightened!”

“Mist, you can’t honestly feel…”

“I’m not scared _now_ , you goof! Ranulf is so friendly! And Mordecai is awkward but sweet, and Lethe—well, she _seems_ mean, but I’ve seen her wag her tail when she’s watching the seagulls.”

Ike gave her a funny look. “Cats’ tails don’t _wag_ ,” he said.

“They do too!” Mist insisted. “Not like dogs, but it means they’re happy…at least, I think it does. But I mean, I’m less anxious being around laguz now because we’ve actually _been_ around them, you know? We took the time to get to know them and see their leader and eat all their spicy food and stay at their big palace…”

“That’s just Gallia, though,” Ike said. “And most people never get the chance to know laguz before they judge them. It’s the other way around, too—Lethe was so angry when she met me and Soren. But now she’s a bit more relaxed.” He shrugged. “Maybe people like me are the odd ones.”

“I wish more people were like you, brother,” Mist said, nudging Ike gently in the side.

“Why, so you could annoy them?”

“I—oh, if Father heard that you’d be washing the armory for _months!_ ”

Ike laughed. Mist jutted out her chin, grabbed the long tails of Ike’s headband, and tugged on them.

“Ow!” Ike exclaimed.

“I _meant_ that if more people were like you, there’d be less _fighting_ all the time,” Mist said, releasing her brother. “If folks just got along instead. Doesn’t everyone want peace?”

“That’s what any rational person would want,” Ike said, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s just difficult for people to put aside their fears, sometimes. I wish that—oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me, not again—”

Mist followed her brother’s gaze out to sea—and there, coming at them from around a group of sharp rocks, coasting dangerously low to the waves, was that wyvern rider in the Daein armor.

“Mist, get behind me,” Ike said lowly, sword already half-drawn.

Mist wasted no time. She stumbled on Ike’s cloak when he stepped back and positioned himself in front of her, keeping a back exit readily available in case she needed to run. Above them, Marcia on her pegasus started to shout, but by then the wyvern was almost upon them—it swooped up over the side and collapsed onto the deck, sides heaving, wings crumpled to either side. Its long tail drooped over the railing.

“Easy, easy, back off, I’m not here to start shit,” said the rider, dismounting and removing her helm. Her face was slick with sweat, plastering her deep red bangs to her forehead.

Ike waved to Marcia; she tugged on her pegasus’s reins and landed a safe distance away. The wyvern tried to raise its head to sniff at it but could barely hold itself up before thumping back against the deck.

_Poor thing,_ Mist thought. _It looks exhausted…_

“It’s Jill, right?” Ike asked.

The Daein girl nodded.

“Okay. What do you want.”

“I need—I offer another truce,” Jill said.

“Because the last one went so well,” Ike said sarcastically. He drew the sword three-quarters from its scabbard. “What happened to the rest of your wyvern troop? The ones you oh-so-casually threatened to bring down upon us.”

“I was—ugh, fine, I was _bluffing_ , are you happy?” Jill spat. She wiped her forehead with her bracer-covered forearm; her posture had gone slack, and she hadn’t made a single move for her weapons. “They don’t… no one else is out here. It’s just me.”

Ike scowled at her, but Jill sighed, letting her arms drop. Her black helmet bumped against her calves. Behind her, the yellow-green wyvern warbled a complaint and finally dragged its tail over the side.

“I’m not a good enough liar to pretend they’ll come after me, either,” Jill said. “Commander Haar told us to withdraw at the Black Knight’s orders—”

Ike stiffened at that—Mist reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. Ike glanced at her briefly and motioned for her to keep back.

“—but I couldn’t just let you all _go_ , so I…broke away from camp a week later in pursuit. It wasn’t authorized. I doubt even my commander is looking for me.”

“Why not rest on land?” Ike asked. He’d slid the sword back halfway, but enough bare steel was visible to make his seemingly casual question still carry a bite. He pointed with a free hand at Phoenicis on their right. “There’s islands all along the Laguz Strait. Your wyvern deserves better than being pushed to its limits.”

“I managed to rest on seamounts and outcrops until you hit the Strait,” Jill said, “but the land here is crawling with sub-human scum. I couldn’t land there even if I wanted to. They’d tear me apart.”

“Then why follow us alone knowing all that?”

“Because I want to be recognized. The soldier who captures the Crimean Princess is rumored to receive riches beyond compare and favor from the King of Daein himself—that’s easily a promotion to deputy, or even commander of my own wyvern corps. I want to make my father proud. A soldier has little else to strive for save the recognition of their peers and country.”

“Yet you sneer at mercenaries,” Ike said levelly, though his voice was hard. “A soldier is contracted to serve the crown. At least mercenaries are contracted to serve the people.”

Jill quieted.

Ike let out a long, slow breath through his nose. His sword nocked back in its sheath.

“Mist, fetch some water for Jill and her wyvern,” he said. “And tell Oscar to set another portion for dinner.”

Jill’s face lit up. “You mean you’re—”

“We’ll take you as far as Begnion,” Ike said, holding up a hand to stop her. “After that, you’re on your own. You do not touch my company. You do not provoke any laguz. And if I hear one mention of sub- _anything_ , you’re off this boat. Understand?”

Jill’s mouth twitched, and there was an unruly spark in her eyes, but she sighed and let it go.

“Alright,” she said. “Fine. Thanks.”

Ike frowned at her. Mist nudged him in the side and pantomimed tugging her lips up with her fingers—her brother still didn’t smile, but he let out a dry snort, which was victory enough as far as Mist was concerned.

Mist edged around Ike’s cape and headed towards the ladder belowdecks. Rich herb-and-meat scents wafting up through the floorboards made her mouth water—it was _so_ nice having proper food again and not stale bread and dubious rations. Mist glanced over her shoulder; Ike and Jill were still talking, but Ike’s sword was sheathed, and Jill had set her helmet down and was unbuckling the rest of her Daein armor.

Mist smiled at them—and then the pull of her own appetite and her errands drew her away.

***

Rain ran down slick syenite cliffs and met the churning waves below the island. Thick clouds blocked out the sun and cast dismal shadows across the craggy stone, streaking across the barren landscape like pinions. Scruffy salt-grass and limber pines thin as twigs were the only plants that dared to wedge themselves in the sharp inclines. When the wind howled, the plants bent with it, and the birds who lived between the crags hunkered down lest they sully their wings with rainwater. Atop the highest peak of the steepest mountain sat a dark stone castle, and inside…

Naesala, the Raven King of Kilvas, paced.

He started at one end of his cluttered quarters and wove around piles of books and furniture unfit for lounging, a wooden desk covered in notes and idle trinkets, discarded letters and baubles that had served their temporary fixations and were left for some poor housekeeper to tidy if they ever got the chance. A modest fire crackled in the hearth against one wall and wavered every time rain leaked down the chimney.

Naesala peered out one of the windows at the storm. The other raven laguz who lived near the Rook had shuttered their windows well before the summer storm hit, and not a shadow of black wings passed by. Naesala scowled at his own reflection. His doublet was undone at the collar; his black leather vest hung loose from his shoulders; even his slick navy-black hair was as unkempt as he allowed it to be—and in dire need of a trim. Naesala ran one of his pale hands through it and styled it as best he could. Sterling silver rings glinted on his fingers.

Someone knocked at the door.

“Come in, Nealuchi,” said Naesala, not bothering to check the peephole first. Only one person bothered to knock _that_ politely when they knew the king was home.

The old pine door creaked, letting in a wisp of a man with white hair circling his temples and a beaklike nose. He shut the door behind him and tottered in, the even _clack_ of his cane at each step turning to a dull _thud_ as he crossed onto the carpet. His wings accentuated his hunched back the way they were folded, graying at the tips and more like slate than a true raven’s black. Even his drab robes looked aged.

Naesala collapsed theatrically into a plush chair at his table, black wings splayed out over the armrests. He propped his boots on top of a stack of rolled-up scrolls. Nealuchi clucked his tongue.

“Nestling, no feet on the table,” he chided.

“Can a king not rewrite the rules of etiquette?” Naesala replied. He folded his arms behind his head and sighed, leaning into the chair so his boots slid ever so slightly forward.

“It would not serve a prime example for your subjects.”

“What do they care? They love my lackadaisical attitude. I’m more popular than the late king was, that’s for sure.”

Nealuchi muttered something under his breath. Naesala quirked his brow at his old chamberlain.

“Do you come with news, or is this a courtesy visit to see if I’ve lost my sense of manners?”

“I’ve received the day’s relay,” Nealuchi said patiently. “The messenger came early on account of the rain.”

“Then let’s hear it—unless of course you’ve forgotten what they told you on the short flight up here.”

“I assure you, my memory is as sharp as my talons,” Nealuchi replied with a wry smile.

Naesala smirked at him. “Very well. Elucidate me, O Wizened Crow.”

Nealuchi folded his hands behind his back. “Seeker wishes compensation for losing four laguz in the raid last week,” he began.

“That’s their own fault,” Naesala said, waving a hand at the window. “I said they had my blessing to raid whatever weird ship was coming through the Strait, but that comes with the risk that yeah, maybe that ship is armed, and yeah, maybe there’s mercenaries on board or wyverns or whatever cockamamie story they told. It’s been six days. Seeker gets nothing. Next.”

Nealuchi sighed, his feathers rustling as he adjusted his wings.

“There is to be a Gathering this month, on the day of the new moon,” he said.

“Ugh. Pass.”

“It is in _Goldoa_ , nestling.”

Naesala sat up, sliding his boots off the table—and several scrolls and papers with it. A sketch of a woman with long blonde hair fluttered to the ground. Naesala snatched it and tucked it back under a scroll before Nealuchi could notice.

“Goldoa?” Naesala said. “Now, that _is_ interesting. I thought Old King Lizardbrain didn’t want anything to do with the rest of us laguz. Wonder what changed his mind…”

“I’ve not the faintest idea.”

“Huh. Is Tibarn gonna be there?”

“I would assume so,” said Nealuchi, grimacing. Naesala laughed.

“Well, then I ought to show my feathers, if only to rub them in his face!” he said. He clapped his hands together and leapt to his feet. “Very well. Do I need to sign an R.S.V.P.? Send a memo to Dheginsea saying ‘yes, your most annoying and esteemed laguz royal will be in attendance’?”

“I would assume a letter in reply would be appropriate,” Nealuchi said. He cast a disapproving look upon the papers strewn about the room.

“I’ll pen something eloquent and have it sent post-haste,” Naesala said. “Was that all?”

“Everything that came in today, yes.”

“Well, I’ll take any short work day as a blessing. I’ll take care of that Gathering business letter today, don’t you worry.”

Nealuchi bowed politely, but he straightened with a start, digging a hand into the folds of his gray robes. He withdrew a neatly creased paper sealed with wax from an inside pocket.

“Ah, wait—a note arrived for you, nestling,” he said. “It bears no return address, but it is sealed with the Begnion Senate’s mark.”

“Bureaucracy bullshit. Just leave it on the pile,” Naesala said, gesturing at the table.

Nealuchi came over and bit his lip, note wavering in his hand as he decided which of the several piles mail belonged to. Naesala rolled his eyes.

“Nevermind—give it here and go rest your feathers. I can hear your bones creak every time you move.”

Nealuchi chuckled and handed Naesala the note, bowing with a sweep of his graying wings. Naesala thought he heard the old man mutter “creaking bones, hoo-hoo!” on his way out.

“…One of these days I’ll convince the old coot to retire,” Naesala muttered. He turned the note over in his hand—the paper was thick and almost velvety to the touch, pressed with a delicate cross-hatch pattern the color of eggshells. The wax seal was a perfect gold circle.

Naesala’s nose crinkled. It _reeked_ of status.

He slid a sharp-nailed finger underneath the seal and flicked the paper open. The instant his eyes recognized the handwriting, his wings fluffed up, and he read:

_Esteemed Raven King,_

_I trust you are in good health and that your blood runs unclouded. It has come to our attention that the alleged Princess of Crimea is making her way to our fine shores via the Laguz Strait. Our own Apostle will be departing Sienne in three weeks with her escort to rendezvous with the Crimeans’ ship outside Cellay. Her ship will bear Begnion’s national flag and be led by the Holy Knights’ own Commander Sigrun._

_It would be a shame if the Apostle’s ship were to encounter vagabonds while she was away from her seat. She does not know how to swim, after all._

_I trust you will do your utmost to ensure Begnion’s interests are not compromised._

_Per our agreement, of course._

_Yours,_

Naesala didn’t bother reading the signature. He crumpled the paper like a dead mouse and flung it into the fire. The orange light glinted off his jet-black wings.

All the while, rain pounded against the Rook.

And all the while, the fire burned.


	46. Chapter 46

Elincia marked the time with tea.

It was something she enjoyed in any circumstance—there was something meditative about being forced to wait for water to boil, for leaves to steep, for the pot to warm and company to arrive—even if the company was herself. After talking with Nasir what felt like so long ago Elincia made a habit of taking tea every afternoon with anyone she could find, whisking them from their chores to Nasir’s exotically furnished cabin for a twenty-minute respite away from the stress of the world.

There was Nephenee, self-conscious of her drawling accent; Brom with his pouch of farmer’s stones from his hometown; Kieran and his stories of fighting alongside Geoffrey; Ilyana and her insatiable appetite; calm Rhys, spunky Mia, warm-hearted Titania, and all the ones in between. Even the cat laguz liked the tea breaks, though they much preferred to eat the snacks Elincia made over the drink.

Elincia attended them all with the same patient ear and dutiful attention befitting a future queen. She made no obvious notes, but every night would run through these small details about her friends and subjects while she fell asleep, memorizing what made them all special.

Jill had refused.

Elincia did not fault her for it—it would be like having tea with one’s mortal enemy—but she felt guilty all the same, watching the hotheaded soldier stew and simmer out of everyone else’s way. The closest Elincia got to understanding Jill was watching her tend her wyvern, and even then it was a distant, closed-off type of understanding.

But the weeks passed. Tension never truly faded from those manning the deck, not with shadows winging through the distant clouds and a Daein soldier stranded on their own ship, but having fresh supplies had brought everyone’s spirits back from the dregs.

Elincia was sipping the last of their gifted tea from Goldoa one sunny afternoon with Ike, Soren, and Nasir, a plate of small honey-dipped locusts on the table between them. Apparently the bugs were something of a Goldoan delicacy—Elincia had forced herself to eat one and then left the rest of the plate to the others, even though Ike and Soren also avoided the supposed snack.

_I’m not surprised these were the last of the gifted food we had left,_ Elincia thought, eyeing the bugs, _but… I think I’ll hold my appetite until we reach Begnion._

“How long until we land?” she asked Nasir. “We’ll reach Cellay soon, right?”

“Yes, we will, and before sunset,” the captain answered, leaning back in his carved chair. He popped another locust in his mouth with a crisp _crunch_. “The coast is growing closer by the minute. I suspect we’ll land within the hour if Marcia’s estimate is correct. With favorable winds, of course,” he added, glancing significantly at Soren.

Soren folded his arms and leaned in his chair closer to Ike. He’d declined both bugs and tea and sat just as rigidly as if this were a tactics meeting and not, what Elincia assumed, was a genial meeting among friends.

“I’ve done what I can,” Soren said. “I’m not wasting another valuable wind spell on a final burst of speed just to save twenty minutes on our itinerary. I have five sigils left and I intend to reserve them in case we encounter an actual emergency.”

Ike surreptitiously brought a hand around the back of Soren’s chair and tugged lightly on Soren’s ponytail. Soren grumbled but kept whatever comment he’d been chewing on to himself.

Elincia sipped her tea, focusing on its vanilla scent. It was easy enough getting Ike to these get-togethers—Soren, however, was like trying to coax a horse across a muddy ditch in the rain. He ran his own schedule and minded his own affairs, and refused to partake in what he called “a frivolous waste of time” unless Ike was there, too. Nothing ever seemed to make him happy.

A sudden clatter of hooves on the deck made Elincia startle, spilling tea on her lap.

“What now,” Ike said, craning around in his seat to peer out a small window.

Elincia set her teacup on the table and dabbed at her breeches—she’d opted for something easy to move in, and her skirts made her legs clammy if she was sitting inside for too long in the humidity. She’d tied her long hair up with the scarf Mist made her just to keep it off her neck. It was hardly the image of a princess, but two months at sea without the duties or pressure of reclaiming a throne had slackened Elincia’s personal dress code from ‘formal’ to ‘casual’ without much resistance.

Someone knocked at the door and poked their head into the cabin.

“Hey, uh, sorry to interrupt,” Zihark said casually. “There’s someone here claiming to be an envoy to the Begnion theocracy. Marcia’s talking with her now; she can vouch that they’re legitimate, but…”

_An envoy? Here? Now?_ Elincia thought. Hurriedly she undid her scarf and tried to finger-comb her hair back to its luscious green waves.

“I am so tired of people landing on my ship without announcement,” Nasir muttered, rising from his seat.

“How big is the envoy?” Ike asked, also rising, Soren half a beat behind him. Elincia scrambled to her feet and had to back up to let Nasir step past her. For a captain’s quarters, Nasir liked his sensible clutter, and he kept his own cot and more personal belongings behind a thatched folding screen dividing the cabin in half. Elincia squished herself next to the table.

“Just one person,” Zihark said, “but she’s no-nonsense. I don’t think she means trouble… though she’s asking if the Princess of Crimea is aboard.”

At that, Zihark glanced at Elincia, who was still doing her best to fix her hair and smooth the creases from her clothes. She cleared her throat and stood at attention.

“Have you told her I’m here?” she asked.

“Not yet. I figured I’d let you all know what was up, first. Besides, it’s not my place.”

“How would a Begnion envoy have found out about our ship?” Ike asked, more to the room at large than Zihark specifically. “I thought no one was supposed to know we were arriving…”

Soren rolled his eyes and tapped Ike lightly on the shoulder. “Spies, Ike,” he said. “Whenever a separate party knows information you didn’t expect them to, always assume spies.”

“Or perhaps the Apostle heard we were coming from King Caineghis,” Nasir supplied. “The Holy Guard may have also seen us from their patrols if they sweep these waters for laguz. Not every coincidence needs to have underlying malice as its motivation.”

Soren made a low noise in his throat. Ike leaned over, murmured something Elincia couldn’t hear, and returned his attention to Nasir.

“So, we shouldn’t be surprised the Apostle knows we’re already here, then,” he said.

“We shouldn’t,” Soren said, picking at the gold-colored hem on his sleeves, “but it _is_ unusual for Begnion specifically to send an envoy to greet a princess they don’t even acknowledge.”

Elincia stiffened. Her plain clothes suddenly felt even more ragged.

“What do you mean?” Ike asked.

“It’s… complicated, to put it lightly,” Soren said. “An envoy is an extension of whoever sits the throne, regardless of the people who comprise it. Both Crimea and Daein were part of Begnion until each seceded. Daein established itself firmly as its own kingdom two hundred and forty years ago, but it took Crimea significantly longer, and it has always been perceived as a vassal state to Begnion—even if it has its own sovereignty. I can’t fathom why the Empress of Begnion would extend an envoy to a nation she must consider somewhat beneath her. She must be planning something.”

“‘Beneath her’?” Nasir said, eyes narrowed at Soren. “That’s rather harsh.”

“And? It’s still true.” Soren flashed Nasir a sharp glare. “Clothing harsh reality in sweet words won’t hide its bitterness, will it?”

“Soren,” Ike warned. His hand had gone behind Soren’s back again, and Elincia could see him gently fiddling with the ends of Soren’s hair. “Ease up, okay?”

Soren sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll try to be more…diplomatic, if that’s what you call openly lying.”

“Ike, Nasir, you’ve no need to scold Soren,” Elincia said, stepping away from the table to edge herself in between them all. The door had clicked shut in the middle of their discussion—Zihark had slipped away, presumably not wanting to be caught in the crossfire in case a real argument broke out. “I don’t mind. He speaks frankly, and his words are that—just words. They do me no harm.”

_And speaking one’s mind is a valuable asset on a council. Now if only I could convince Bastian to speak less flowery when he regales me with news,_ Elincia thought with a pang of regret. _I could use someone who speaks straight to the point sometimes._

“That’s all well and good, Princess,” Nasir said, still eyeing Soren, “but he should still mind his manners.”

Soren glowered right back until Ike put himself between them.

“Deciding what to do about this envoy is more important right now,” Ike said. “Princess, your thoughts?”

“I’ll meet with her,” Elincia said. “I’ve nothing to gain by refusing, anyway.”

_I just wish I had time to look more presentable,_ she thought, following Ike and Nasir out onto the deck. She could see Soren trailing behind them out of the corner of her eye like a watchful cat, and even though she highly doubted an envoy on official business would try to strike her, it was a small comfort knowing that Ike’s friend was ready for trouble at a moment’s notice.

The envoy had landed squarely in the middle of the ship and was talking with Marcia, both atop their pegasi as if they’d paused during a horseback ride to chat. The envoy was built like an athlete and wore gold-embellished pauldrons over her cream-colored uniform, and a sweeping mauve cape draped from her shoulders across her pegasus’s flank. Her mount stood at well-trained attention: its coat a deep blue roan, its legs long and slender, and its slate-speckled wings like a peregrine falcon folded neatly at its sides. Seeing Elincia approach, the envoy dismounted and removed her helmet.

“Princess Elincia of Crimea, I presume?” she said. She bowed lightly, her short umber hair sweeping across her forehead with the motion. “It is an honor to meet you. My name is Tanith; I am the deputy commander of the Apostle’s Holy Pegasus Knights.”

“The pleasure is mine, I assure you,” Elincia said, dropping into a curtsy despite her breeches. She prayed her cheeks were free from an embarrassed flush when she straightened. “I must ask what brings the Holy Guard so far from Sienne…?”

“The Apostle wishes to meet with you personally. I am to escort you to her now.”

_Meet with me here, now?_ Elincia thought frantically. _Oh, I must truly look like a washed-up rogue compared to her image of me—I was hoping to have time to amply prepare, to at least stop and procure a welcoming gift on our way from Cellay! Gracious, what kind of guest asking for foreign aid doesn’t have a peace offering? Why didn’t I think to save something from Toha?_

She grimaced internally. _I doubt they’d enjoy Goldoan honey locusts…_

“My mercenary company is the Princess’s escort,” Ike said, stepping up beside her. Elincia felt her heartbeat start to calm as soon as Ike was there, even if he spoke a bit too curtly. “We go where she goes. I hope you understand.”

“Of course,” Tanith said without skipping a beat. Her tone was so measured it was almost impossible for Elincia to tell if she was even annoyed. “Our ship is there, three marks southeast between those two islands. We will escort you to the docks.”

“Easy enough,” Ike said, squinting out to sea.

Elincia followed his line of sight—the silhouette of a sleek three-masted ship bobbed in the distance, several miles from shore and angling steadily closer.

But there was a smaller craft coming up alongside it.

And a flock of wings descending on the sails.

“Thank you very much,” Elincia said. _Maybe the other ship is a second escort…though one of those pegasus knights is flying awfully close…_

Tanith replaced her helm and had one foot in the stirrup when the pegasus knight Elincia saw dove from the skies and landed with a clatter of hooves on the deck. Marcia’s pegasus shied back; Tanith’s merely flicked its tail and regarded the newcomer with an impassive equine expression.

“Please stop scuffing the deck with your animals’ hooves,” Nasir muttered under his breath as the knight saluted Tanith.

“Apologies, ma’am!” the knight said. “We’ve sighted laguz near our escort ship! Birdfolk—crows—coming in from the west!”

Tanith scoffed. “We’ve seen their kind before,” she said. “They fancy themselves pirates without a ship, but they’re thieves, plain and simple. Commander Sigrun is with the Apostle in Cellay. It’ll take more than a few winged scavengers to get past her. The next time you barge into a conversation clucking like a chicken without its head, you’ll be stuck on curry-comb duty for two weeks, understand?”

Tanith swung into the saddle; the other knight bowed her head and clenched her own reins sheepishly. Nasir had taken his spyglass out of its pocket and was watching the two ships in the distance with an increasingly grim expression. Ike took it from him and frowned just the same.

“We, ah…” the other knight hedged, “actually, the Apostle had one of her more _willful_ moments and… well, I’m afraid we aren’t quite sure where she is.”

“What?!” Tanith exclaimed. “She was supposed to wait in Cellay for our rendezvous! Where are her attendants? Her guard? Blessed Ashera, why can she not stay _still?_ ”

“She must be a joy to deal with,” Soren muttered, taking the spyglass from Ike. By now, a thick cloud of wings had condensed over the large ship, lithe birds and bulky pegasi competing for airspace. Elincia wrung her hands nervously.

“Is there something we can help with?” she asked.

“I apologize, Your Highness,” Tanith said, inclining her head to Elincia and gathering her reins. Her pegasus snorted and rustled its slate-speckled wings, anxious to be aloft. “This is a matter best suited for the Holy Guard. Please, drop anchor and remain here for our escort to the docks. I will return for you and yours later.”

Elincia stepped back, giving Tanith and her other knight space to take off. Marcia’s hands tensed on her pegasus’s reins, as if wanting to fly off with them, but she stayed put and looked to Ike for an indication on what to do. Soren slipped up beside him and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Ike,” he said, “why don’t we go lend them a hand?”

Elincia blinked in surprise. Even Ike quirked his brow at Soren.

“Soren, are you sure you’re not feeling sick?” he asked. “Normally you’d want some kind of, I don’t know, collateral or incentive…”

“Helping out Begnion’s Apostle is a great opportunity to put her in our debt. We’d be fools to pass that up.”

“…Aaaand there it is,” Ike said with a fleeting smile. “Alright. I was more than happy to help out without a condition, but…Nasir, would you be able to get us closer to their ship?”

“I can manage it,” Nasir replied. “Though I can’t say I approve of Soren’s motivations.”

He and Soren exchanged sour looks. Elincia sidled closer to them, surreptitiously angling herself to grab one or the other—gracefully, of course—should they bristle any closer.

“I think it’s the noble thing to do,” Elincia said, eyeing the two of them before turning her gaze to Ike. “To help those in need, regardless of their station.”

“I was thinking the same,” Ike said. “Will you be fine here if we bring half the company over to that other ship? By your orders, of course. You are _technically_ our employer.”

Elincia nodded.

“Alright, then that’s what we’ll do. Nasir, get us closer; Soren, gather Titania, Rhys, Oscar, Boyd, and whoever else you think can make the boarding without issue.”

“What about me, handsome?” Marcia called.

“Oh! Right, I forgot you were up here,” Ike said. “Sorry about that. Can you fly to that ship and let Tanith and her guards know we’ll be arriving?”

Marcia grinned, giving Ike a mock salute. “Sure as sugar!” she said. “C’mon, Cass, let’s stretch those wings, how ‘bout it?”

Elincia stepped close to Ike, letting Marcia take off. She watched the Greil Mercenaries’ own pegasus knight soar straight as an arrow towards the Begnion ship. Spire-like islands jutted out of the water to their right, drifting closer as Nasir altered their course. Begnion’s coast stretched green and golden to their port side, cluttered with trees and the mark of civilization, but Elincia kept her eyes firmly on the sight ahead.

“You’re doing the right thing, Ike,” she said quietly. “I would not dream of stopping you even if the thought had crossed my mind. Brigands and pirates are no match for your strength.”

“My strength, Soren’s tactics, and Titania’s heart,” Ike said. He straightened, tightening the knot on his headband and letting the two long tails drape down his back. “And your blessing, of course.”

“You may want to save a blessing for Ashera,” Elincia said, feeling herself blush.

“I’m not one to pray to gods for the deeds that hard work can accomplish. We work for you. All we need is your approval and we’ll carry out the job.”

“Well,” Elincia said, “in that case, I say…give those pirates…give them a sound thrashing!”

Ike smirked at her. “A ‘sound thrashing’? Look at you, you’ve ditched the fancy dress for Titania’s old breeches, your hair’s a mess, and you’re picking up some of Boyd’s rougher language…you’re really starting to act like one of Greil’s Mercenaries, not a royal princess.”

Elincia laughed. “I can be both,” she said. “I admit, having spent a quarter of the year in your company has had a lasting effect on my mannerisms.”

“It’s not a bad thing, if you’re wondering.”

Elincia smiled and put her hand on Ike’s arm.

“I’ll be cheering for you,” she said. “…From the lower decks, of course.”

Ike shifted uncomfortably, shimmying out from Elincia’s touch.

“Best head down there now,” he said, nodding at the stern. “We’re coming in fast.”

The shouts and sounds of battle mixed with the harsh croaks of ravens began to fill the air; the two ships were close enough to see the shapes of people swarming the decks and the glint of steel under the midafternoon sun. Elincia shivered, retreated from the railing, and went to the safety of the lower deck. The porthole in her own cabin regrettably faced away from the fight—but she could see Cellay’s docks and elegant rooftops miles away on the coast.

Elincia sat at her desk. She folded her hands in her lap and wrung Mist’s patchwork scarf between them, counting the seconds until the sounds of battle faded and the long leg of her journey could finally come to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm working on mettle & flame for nanowrimo this year! come say hi/add me on the nano site @ earthtonequeen 
> 
> probably gonna be more frequent updates bc of that (fingers crossed)
> 
> please please stay safe out there!!


	47. Chapter 47

Ike braced his legs against the sudden lurch of the ship beneath him. Keeping his center of balance low, he darted forward and pushed a scar-faced man back and back and over the railing, knocking him overboard with the flat of his blade. The brigand fell with a yelp fifty feet down to the water and was swallowed by the waves.

_Begnion was going to escort us into harbor with_ this _?_ Ike thought. _It’s an awfully large ship to send for such a short journey. It’s like they_ wanted _to show off how much better they are just to rub it in Elincia’s face…_

He ducked back as a shadow crossed behind him. Nephenee moved in from Ike’s right, already bringing her lance up to deflect a nasty-looking scimitar. She ran the brigand through and swept the body off the side of the ship in the same smooth motion.

“Doin’ okay, Commander?” Nephenee asked.

“Yeah,” Ike said, wiping his arm across his brow. He squared his stance. “We just have to keep these guys from breaching the inner hull. No sweat, right?”

He cast a look over his shoulder at the hatch leading belowdecks. The Begnion ship was a hulk compared to Nasir’s cog, and there surely had to be a second entrance to the hull somewhere closer to the stern, but Ike was in no mood to press orders. Tanith had requested that his group protect _this_ entrance. And her snappish attitude had made it very clear that she expected obedience without back-talk.

The attacking schooner bobbed in the water up against the Begnion ship’s side, attached by thick ropes and iron hooks that dug into the railing and tethered the two boats together. Mia was busy trying to saw through the ropes with Boyd, while Oscar, Ike, and Titania had stationed themselves along the three masts, each with their own martial area to keep clear. Soren wove between them flinging bright bolts of thunder magic that snapped like whips in the air. Every spell made a pegasus whinny and shy away, much to the chagrin of their riders, but Soren kept at it anyway. Ike even thought he saw Soren smirk whenever he scared a pegasus knight.

But the strangest things were the ravens. The laguz flitted between the two boats, disinterested with Nasir’s ship entirely, ducking in and out as if they wanted nothing more than to bother those on board rather than attack them. One of the birds landed on the crow’s nest and laughed at everyone it could see.

“Got half of the ropes, Commander!” Mia shouted from the prow.

“Keep it up!” Ike replied. “Then fall back and bolster the entrance!”

“You got it!”

Ike stepped back, raising his sword as a broad-shouldered brigand with an axe clambered onto the deck. One thrust, one quick slice across the man’s throat and he was down.

Ike grimaced and carried on.

The ship was cluttered with a handful of Begnion infantry all wearing traditional gold-and-white armor, and they shouted encouragement and curses with equal fervor. Ike could hear their voices warring for attention as if shouting at the pirates and the ravens would get them to back down. Ike shook his head. Words meant nothing unless you followed through with deeds.

But there was a voice, one of the louder whoops among the crowd, that made Ike pause.

“…Did you hear that?” he asked Soren.

“Hear what?”

“I thought I heard—I don’t know, it sounded like someone familiar.”

“How should I know?” Soren replied. He whispered the thunder sigil’s phrase and caught a burst of lightning in his hand, shooting it at the schooner. The mast cracked with the impact like a tree struck in a storm. Black char scored it and the page beneath Soren’s fingers when he flipped to the next sigil. “One, you’d have to be more specific, and two, it’s rather hard to discern individual voices among the clamor of a fight.”

“I—right,” Ike said. He peered around the third mast at a small huddle of Begnion soldiers jostling for position.

There. A man wearing not Begnion’s colors but gleaming cobalt, the plate mail waxed and polished until it shone like a second sun. A familiar sweep of blond hair, a bright white grin, and stature fit to barricade a broken wall.

Ike stopped short.

“ _Gatrie?!_ ”

“Hm? Hey, Ike!” Gatrie grinned. He waved with his entire arm, lance and all, nearly nicking a raven’s wing as it swooped low above him. “Look at you! You’ve grown a few inches if I’m not mistaken! Glad to see you’re in one piece after all that in Gallia.”

“Hang on, _Gatrie?_ ” Titania exclaimed, bringing her axe back to her shoulder after cutting a brigand deep in the stomach. “Is it really you?”

“Titania? Fancy meeting you here! My word, it’s like the whole lot of Greil’s Mercenaries came by just to say hello!”

“What are you _doing_ here?” Ike said. “Is Shinon with you?”

“I sincerely hope not,” Soren muttered.

“Nah, he’s off doing who-knows-what,” Gatrie said, taking a moment to adjust his pauldrons. “I’m here on rather official business, as it were. I’m to drive back these fiends who dared to latch their hooks upon this fine ship and its even finer passengers!”

“Are you working for the Apostle?” Titania asked.

“Oh, no, my employer is far more charming!” Gatrie winked at her. “My lady Astrid of House Damiell!”

He beamed and gestured to a short young woman with pale eyes and long black hair standing behind him. She had a carved longbow held aloft, scanning the skies, and in a calculated movement brought down a raven laguz with a single arrow to its heart.

“Isn’t she divine?” Gatrie said.

“She’s a noble,” Soren said distastefully.

“But I can fight,” Astrid said, turning her attention to the lot of them. “I’d rather be of use helping my fellows than waiting belowdecks. I was once a knight of Begnion, after all, and defending the Apostle is one of my sworn duties.”

“She would not listen to my protests,” Gatrie said theatrically, free hand over his heart. “I am an unbeatable bodyguard, a top-notch mercenary, and yet my delicate snow flower insisted on standing her ground side by side…”

Behind him, Astrid shot down another raven who’d been trying to make off with the ship’s netting.

“I’m glad to see you’re doing well, Ike,” Gatrie said, sobering. “I’d been worried sick about the Greil Mercenaries since I left. It makes me wish I hadn’t ditched the company so quickly. But it looks like you recovered just fine. You must be angry at me for abandoning you all…”

“No, not really,” Ike said. He caught Titania looking ready to say a few words and held a hand up to stop her. The last thing anyone needed was blame being thrown around as sharply as Soren’s spellcraft. “I’m not angry at you. I can understand why you left.”

_No one wants a green recruit half their age giving them orders,_ said Ike’s intrusive thoughts. _No one trusts a boy who’s only half his father’s shadow._ Ike winced.

“Then it must be fate!” Gatrie said, oblivious to any signs of Ike’s discomfort. “To think we’d be fighting side by side again—say, is that Oscar? And Boyd, too! Ah, it feels great to see those brothers again! I can’t believe I wasted all those weeks worrying!”

“The fact that you worried at all tells me you never truly abandoned us,” Ike said. “Honestly, Gatrie, I speak for the whole company when I say you’d be more than welcome back into the fold once your contract with your current employer is up.”

Astrid fired again. A pirate toppled overboard.

“Arrows,” she said, holding out a hand.

“Of course, my lady,” Gatrie said, handing her a bundle from a pack strapped to his waist.

Astrid refilled her quiver and scouted another target. Gatrie opened his mouth to launch into another speech, but Soren pointed right at him and made him clap his mouth shut.

“No more,” Soren said. “Save the frivolous chitchat until _after_ we finish our respective missions.”

Gatrie guffawed. “Soren! My, you haven’t changed a _bit_ , have you?”

“Shut up.”

Gatrie laughed again. He waved his lance in the air and leveled it at the schooner.

“Come, then, let us drive back these fiends and save the day the way Commander Greil taught us! And after that, a drink!”

He charged, each step like thunder across the deck, and swept a pirate off the ship with one blow of his lance. Astrid neatly followed behind him.

Soren raised an eyebrow at Ike. Ike shrugged.

“He hasn’t changed, has he,” Titania said, shaking her head.

“Nope,” Ike replied. “That’s our Gatrie, all right.” He shifted his sword to his off hand so he could rotate his wrist, wincing at the little twinge he felt run up his arm. Ike sighed. “We should make sure he doesn’t get himself or his employer killed while he’s at it, right?”

“I suppose,” Soren said.

“Great. Let’s go.”

Ike signaled to Oscar, gestured at the schooner, and with Soren and Titania on either side he pressed forward.

***

A great golden eagle with a necklace of feathers and fangs perched on the boughs of a windswept pine, the tallest tree on the scraggliest island jutting out of the sea. Two birds flanked him like guardians, and while they were bigger than the average beorc, the eagle was easily twice their size and could have dwarfed them with wingspan alone. He picked a few loose feathers from his chest and spat them into the wind.

“Janaff, what do you see?” he asked the hawk perched next to him.

“Ehhh, it’s a bit far off, Your Majesty,” Janaff answered, “but give me a minute…”

Janaff clacked his beak and shuffled his wheat-colored wings, leaning forward enough to make the branch bob beneath him. His talons clutched the bark and made splinters fall across the rocks below.

In the distance, the waters outside the Begnion port town of Cellay were tumultuous, writhing with the spray of three warring ships. King Tibarn shifted his wings. Pegasus knights were graceless fighters—especially when compared to the Kilvas ravens, whose black wings spelled omens for any human who saw them. The two were darting around one another in the air, swerving around sails and diving towards the decks to aid whichever side each was on.

“All three are beorc ships,” Janaff said, squinting, “two with Begnion flags and one without any banners. Those ones seem like pirates to me. Kilvas is helping them.”

“Big surprise,” scoffed the hawk on Tibarn’s other side.

“Whoever’s manning the smaller Begnion ship is aiding the larger one, it looks like,” Janaff went on. “I can’t _quite_ see who’s in charge, there, but it looks like the Holy Pegasus Knights control the larger boat and some rabble without uniforms are coming to their aid. Sure would be easier to parse if humans actually used cohesive colors in their battle regalia.”

“Don’t waste your time trying to understand humans,” Tibarn said. He turned to the other hawk, a slender umber-colored bird with a hooked beak that looked like it had been dipped in tar. “Ulki, what can you hear?”

Ulki cocked his head and stared into the middle distance.

“…Fighting,” he said after a few seconds.

“Duh,” said Janaff.

Tibarn suppressed the urge to whack both his attendants off the branch.

“I hear mention of the Apostle,” Ulki said, “and Crimea, though that is to be expected. Mercenaries serving their alleged princess… there’s mention of a Commander Sigrun… cursing the Kilvans… preventing pirates from breaching the Begnion ships, though I hear Daeinish accents among them… but mostly the sounds of steel-weapon fighting.”

Janaff heaved a sigh, spreading his tailfeathers as he fidgeted.

“I can’t believe we came all this way just to watch _humans_ ,” he said.

“You know our spies are reliable,” Tibarn replied. “They said the alleged Princess of Crimea is finally reaching Begnion’s shores today. I wanted to see what manner of welcome her arrival would entail.”

“You mean you wanted to see if they refused her,” Ulki said.

“Humans always fight over the stupidest things. It would not be beneath them to have one come all the way across the Strait and the Southern Sea just to be turned around at the shore. And if said ship were turned away, stripped of its morale, it would be fair game for its remaining resources. Resources that Phoenicis can use.”

Tibarn watched the distant battle with the patience of a statue. Beside him, Ulki and Janaff exchanged glances and a shrug of their wings.

“What would you like to do, Your Majesty?” Janaff asked. “We’ll fight if you give the word.”

Tibarn snorted. “While it’s a tempting opportunity to deal with the Apostle—if she’s there after all—we don’t pick up others’ scraps. We’ll send scouts to survey the events and report back to us; in the meantime, we’re going home. We’ve ample distance to cover before the Gathering in three days.”

Janaff opened his beak to sigh again, but at Tibarn’s stern glance he clacked it shut. Ulki stifled a laugh by preening his wings.

Tibarn launched himself from the branch first, Janaff and Ulki heartbeats behind him, and the three laguz raptors caught a warm air current up to the clouds. Tibarn spread his wings wide and soared for a short distance, scanning the ships for any last signs of tumult. By now, the heart of the fighting had died down, though the blasted ravens were still swooping in and out as if content to harry anyone they could get their talons on.

Tibarn shook his head. _Disorganized carrion,_ he thought.

With a flick of his pinions the King of Phoenicis wheeled away with his attendants, leaving the beorc and the ravens to their petty squabble.

***

Naesala lurched out of the way of an arrow, wings tucked close against his black-feathered body. His raven form shone from all the narcissistic care that he afforded his feathers, and yet, somehow, all that luster did nothing to deter target practice from the people he’d hired.

Granted, humans were all dumb as rocks, but still.

“Watch it!” Naesala yelled at the schooner. “You almost nicked me!”

The disgraceful Daein didn’t even bother with a reply—he just waved a calloused hand in Naesala’s general direction and nocked another arrow to his bow.

Naesala groaned. Of course this was all going sideways. Of course the men he’d hired—or, really, tricked into paying _him_ for information, because who would actually bother hiring humans for anything?—turned out to be incompetent. They were sluggish two-legged imbeciles far from home who couldn’t tell a lance from the sharp end of a stick. Begnion’s soldiers were hardly any better, but those mercenaries or whoever-they-were coming to the rescue, _those_ were trouble. Those ones actually knew how to _fight_. A mage boy called a wind spell sharp enough to carve through a man’s breastplate. A woman with a thick red braid long as her spine swung her battleaxe ruthlessly through every enemy that stood in her way. Naesala felt a shiver through his wingtips.

“Hey! Raven King!”

Naesala swooped in low, coming to a halt several feet from the edge of the schooner. The captain, a chisel-chinned man with freckles and greasy red hair, looked about two steps away from wringing his hands around some unfortunate soul’s neck.

“What, Norris?” Naesala said. “Aren’t my soldiers proving useful? Ample distractions to let you board and sink the ship, just as you asked.”

Norris shook a finger at the raven king. “I paid you good money for information on the Princess’s location, paid you _more_ than enough to pass my own soldiers through Begnion unseen, and yet I find myself surrounded by blasted pegasus knights and Crimean rabble! We fly no banners! We stripped our armor’s colors! _Why_ are we under attack?”

Naesala clicked his beak. “You don’t know? That ship you’re invading belongs to the Apostle herself.”

“What? We— _you_ told me it was the Crimean Princess aboard that ship!”

“Technically, not _me_ ; it was one of my attendants,” Naesala said with a wave of his talons. Even in raven form, the silver rings on his claws glinted with stolen wealth. “It must be one of those blasted miscommunications. You know, one of those unfortunate misunderstandings that happens at the most inconvenient times.”

Norris growled. One of his hands clutched the back of a broken longbow, the other white-knuckled on his ship’s railing.

“I paid you for _help_ , you blasted carrion crow, not for treachery!” he spat.

“Then that was your own fool error,” Naesala replied. He eyed the man’s longbow; good thing it had broken, or else he would have to have this conversation through letters lest he find an arrow embedded in his chest. “Have fun reaping the mess you’ve sown.”

He winged away before Norris could fire another retort, soaring higher and higher until he had a vantage point well above the dueling ships. It was almost sad how soundly Norris was getting beaten.

_Humans take themselves far too seriously,_ Naesala thought, watching the dwindling scuffle. _It’s as if being obstinate is a way of life for them. They let their foolish pride get in the way, and what does it earn them? A swift and stupid death._

Another of his ravens fell to an arrow in their chest and dropped into the sea.

Naesala scanned the decks. Not a trace of the Apostle or the Crimean Princess to be seen.

_Well, I tried, you old windbag,_ he thought, snorting. _You never said I had to actually_ drown _the whelp, so that is a loophole I am going to exploit._

He whistled through his beak. “Hey! Kilvas! Back off, we’re going home. It’s not worth it.”

His remaining flock cawed their response and banked away, grasping for any last bits of coin or valuables to resell as they flew to rejoin their king. One of the ravens latched her claws into a Daein and flung him overboard on her way out. Naesala laughed.

_You know, if Norris had been willing to pay me more, I’d’ve been willing to lend a wing,_ he thought. _Stupid human pettiness. Enjoy your bloodshed, scum._

With the beat of black wings at his back, the King of Kilvas launched himself into the clouds, fleeing the misery of fools.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at the rate nanowrimo has me going im gonna end up either deep in the begnion section or deep in interpersonal additions to the story by the end of the month lmfao
> 
> note on tibarn: i never quite liked that his transformed model was 1) green, when his hair/feathers are brown and 2) was a bald eagle, so i made him a golden eagle (one of my favorite raptors!)


	48. Chapter 48

The schooner sank lower in the sea like a drowning man down to his last gasp of air. Soren drummed his fingertips against his spellbook and watched the Holy Guard pick the stragglers from the wreckage of their own boat—at least ten people were swimming for their lives, though not all towards the coast. One miserable fool clung to the back of one of the pegasus knights atop her steed, too wet to care that they’d been captured.

_Sinking their own ship rather than admit defeat…awfully bold_ , thought Soren. _A pirate would not waste their only asset and means of transportation even several miles from shore. Swimming that distance means death for the unfit._

He turned his back on the wreckage and surveyed the deck. Begnion’s ship was more or less in order once again: soldiers in their gold armor scrubbed the deck clean of blood; weapons were returned to their sheaths; pegasi landed and conversation resumed as if this was a normal occurrence this close to shore. Gatrie and the lady on his arm, Astrid, schmoozed with Mia and Boyd on their way back to Nasir’s ship.

Soren found Ike talking with Nephenee and Oscar near the railing. Quietly he came over and waited patiently for Ike to finish his business.

“…that it’s accounted for,” Ike was saying, picking at his left shoulder. He hid the nervous tic by gesturing at their own ship. “Make sure Elincia knows it’s safe.”

“Yes, Commander.”

Ike’s shoulders slumped with a sigh as soon as the other two left. Soren reached up and plucked a raven feather stuck to Ike’s shoulder guard.

“No casualties on our side,” Soren reported. “Gatrie seems like he’s more than content rejoining the company given Astrid’s permission. All is accounted for; however, Mia insisted that I tell you she severed more ropes on the enemy ship than Boyd did.”

“If she thinks she’s getting a paid bonus for that, she’ll have to think again,” Ike said with a weary laugh. “Thank you, Soren.”

“Just doing my job.”

“You do it better than anyone I could ever ask—Father always said you had a knack for logic, but I never quite got to see it in action until we…until we left.”

Soren tucked a strand of black hair behind his ear. He shrugged off the compliment. Filling one’s head with empty praise was a surefire way to an inflated ego and mistakes.

Tanith landed her blue roan pegasus on deck nearby and let it fold its wings back before addressing them.

“Commander Ike,” she said, “on behalf of the Holy Pegasus Knights of Begnion, I extend to you our deepest thanks for your assistance in this skirmish.”

“Think nothing of it,” Ike said casually.

Soren bit back a remark. _Don’t let them take advantage of your kindness,_ he thought.

Ike motioned at the sinking schooner. “Any survivors?” he asked.

“Several—they’ve thrown themselves overboard rather than surrender openly,” Tanith reported, shaking her head. Her uniform was unbloodied despite the scuff marks on her pauldrons. Her pegasus swished its black tail irritably. “My forces are rounding them up for interrogation.”

“They didn’t fight like your average hired thug,” Soren said.

Ike nodded. “Soren’s right—they moved too uniformly, and if they really were pirates, they were well off. No one I saw bore any signs of a rough life at sea.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” said Tanith, “but I’ll keep it under consideration. I intend to question the survivors for any information they possess, including why they targeted the Apostle’s ship. I can give you a copy of our findings if it pleases you.”

“I’ll take it,” Soren said.

Ike raised his brow. Soren sighed.

“…Thank you,” he added in an undertone.

Tanith only bowed her head politely at him. “You may be young, but you’re a contracted mercenary company,” she said to Ike. “I do not wish to treat you lesser for your age.”

“I appreciate it,” Ike said.

“Do you have suspicions about their attack?”

Ike looked to Soren, who squinted into the middle distance. The sun arced behind them, dipping west away from shore, and the pegasus knights ferrying their captives to the harbor were lit with rays of gold.

“They weren’t interested in treasure,” Soren said after a moment’s recollection. “Neither were the ravens they were with. And those were no common pirates; they were trained soldiers, possibly from Daein given their accents and the favored axe and martial fighting styles. Their attack could have been an attempt on the Apostle’s life…”

Tanith inhaled sharply through her teeth. “They wouldn’t dare!”

“They would, if given the right motivation.”

“How would Daein soldiers have gotten this far south?” Ike asked. “Cellay is on the inner coast of Begnion, on the same level as Sienne and the whole of Goldoa—right, Soren?”

“Right. To move soldiers either from occupied Crimea or Daein itself would require ample discretion and swiftness.” Soren furrowed his brow, trying to place a map of Tellius in his head as if looking at the weathered copy in Greil’s old quarters. He’d never bothered memorizing the southern half of Tellius as intently as the northern half, but the names were easy enough to recall. “Coming from Crimea would entail passing through the dead Serenes Forest, and from Daein, the Blue Mountains. Either way, you’re crossing the Miscale River and part of Grann Desert, unless you went along the coast…and that journey, on foot, would take weeks to _months_. I suppose they could have come via wyvern, but I’d assume Begnion’s Holy Guard would have seen them approaching.”

“We would have,” Tanith said firmly. “Though that doesn’t explain why Kilvas ravens were with them…there’s too many theories. We’ll have to see what my guard can extract from those captives before settling on any definite explanation. Right now I’m to swiftly and quietly confirm the Apostle’s location before all hell breaks loose on board again.”

Soren almost laughed. “You mean you _still_ can’t find her?” he said. “The one person you’re supposed to keep eyes on at all times, the literal symbol of your country—?”

He felt a little tug on the back of his head; Ike’s hand went innocently back to his side. Soren tried to glare at him, but Ike kept his own eyes on Tanith.

_If you keep tugging on my ponytail in the middle of conversations,_ Soren thought, _I’ll have to either wear it tied up or cut it off. And neither of us would like that outcome._

He shuddered. The one time Mist had attempted to cut his hair five years ago had ended with cussing and an apology letter Ike that had to proofread just to make sure Soren didn’t accidentally make matters worse from lack of tact.

“My group covered the entrance you told us to protect,” Ike said. “As far as we know, no one got in or out.”

“From what I’ve been _told_ ,” Tanith said, “the Apostle slipped out of her cabin amidst the chaos. She can’t have gone far. She is too short to mount a pegasus on her own and she cannot swim, either.”

“You’re kidding me,” Soren said flatly. “Your holy status symbol can’t even swim? That’s a liability anyone could exploit—”

_Such as hired muscle or political schemer,_ he thought with a jolt. _That would explain the sudden attack at sea. Sink the Apostle’s ship and she’s as good as dead without a rescuer._

“Would you kindly check your own craft?” Tanith asked. “My knights have already inspected the wreckage for her and we’re certain she did not cross to the enemy ship during the fight.”

“Nah, we don’t mind,” Ike said, answering for both himself and Soren before Soren could get a word in.

Tanith dipped her head in thanks and tugged on her pegasus’s reins, taking off to do another sweep around the ship’s exterior. Soren and Ike made their way across the planks back to Nasir’s ship. Ike signaled Titania and told her in undertones to check the upper deck as discreetly as possible.

“Though I can’t understand why someone called ‘the Apostle’ would do something as stupid as leave her own cabin in the middle of a battle,” he added frankly.

Titania frowned. “Watch your words,” she warned. “Both of you—we do Princess Elincia no favors by being rude to those she needs help from.”

Ike dipped his head in apology; Soren pretended not to listen.

“Do you know what she looks like?” Titania asked.

“It’s safe to assume she’s a noblewoman of some stature,” Soren said. “I only know a name—Sanaki—from general knowledge of world leaders, but not a physical description. Given the gilded touches Begnion affords their Holy Guard, she’s most likely wearing something ostentatious enough to make her a dead giveaway compared to the rest of us.”

“That’s…rather true, actually,” Titania said with a slight laugh. “Those pegasus knights look splendid, don’t they. But don’t worry. I’ll check every inch of ship up here.”

“I appreciate it, Titania,” Ike said. “Just remember to keep it quiet. We don’t want to cause another stir.”

“Of course, Commander.”

Titania left to start her search from the prow. Soren followed Ike down the ladder to the lower level and avoided eye contact with everyone he saw—now that the fight was over, people were gossiping in clusters all along the dining table, talking about Begnion in seemingly every breath. Gatrie had commanded a crowd of Greil’s Mercenaries all hugging and clapping him on the back and acting as if he’d never left. The only person who gave Soren pause was Astrid, but since she’d already vouched herself as a Begnion soldier in both deed and word, the chance of her secretly being the Apostle was slim to none.

_I doubt even Gatrie’s that stupid, to not realize his employer was the Apostle in disguise_ , Soren thought as he followed Ike around. _And it sounds like Begnion values their Apostle so highly that putting her in danger is tantamount to suggesting treason. Hm. Assuming we don’t find her, I wonder what the line of succession is in Begnion…_

The hull was mercifully deserted. Even the merchants down at the prow had ventured abovedecks to catch the news. Ike let out a relieved breath as soon as he stepped off the ladder into the cool shadows.

“Tired?” Soren asked.

“In more ways than one,” Ike said. Now that they were alone, weariness crept into his voice, a tic he hid so well from everyone else but not subtle enough to escape Soren’s ears.

Soren _tsk_ ed. “You’re overexerting yourself again.”

“I’ll be better once we’ve landed and gotten this Apostle business sorted out,” Ike said. He turned to Soren, and though his eyelid was twitching again—stress, no doubt—there was a searching look in his eyes that gave Soren pause. “Are you alright, Soren?”

It was cramped down here, with the horses’ stalls on one side of the ladder and the passageway between storerooms on the other. Only a few lanterns were lit, and thin lines of daylight peering through breaks in the wood siding did nothing to combat the dark brown shadows of the hull.

Soren fiddled with his sleeves. It was too warm down here without the open sky and a breeze.

“I’m fine, Ike,” he said.

“Yeah, but I know you,” Ike countered. “Listen, about what happened at tea this afternoon… with Nasir and Elincia. About how you phrase things. That comment, it’s bothering you, isn’t it.”

“No.”

Soren left the matter alone and started to open doors along the line of storeroom cabins, but he could _feel_ Ike’s blue eyes on the back of his head, and, like the water weathering the shore, Soren eventually gave in.

“Okay, fine, yes, it bothers me,” he said. “I suppose I should apologize. That’s what any normally functioning human would do.”

“No, you don’t need to apologize,” Ike said, stepping slightly closer to help Soren check the cramped cabins. “I’m no better sometimes, honestly. We’re both a bit brusque with our words.”

Soren nodded absentmindedly,

Ike put a hand on his shoulder. Soren froze.

“But, listen, don’t take it personally, okay?” Ike said, quieter. “Your ability to speak plainly the things that others won’t is part of what makes you brilliant. Other people are too bound by courtesy. With you, I trust that what you say is exactly what you think. And that’s important to me.”

Soren kept his focus on the empty rooms and not his friend beside him, not the physical reassurance of a hand upon his shoulder or the way everything suddenly seemed to sway. Subconsciously Soren brushed his bangs away from his forehead.

“…Thank you, Ike,” he mumbled.

“Of course. You’re my friend, and I value your input.” Ike took his hand away and stretched. “Now, about that missing Apostle…I guess she’s not in any of these lower cabins after all?”

“I—no, it doesn’t appear that way,” Soren said, clearing his throat. “I assume Volke would let us know if someone were in the weapons storage…that leaves the horses at the stern.”

“Well, I doubt someone fancy would want to hang out in what’s essentially a stable, but we should check anyway.”

The three horses all pricked their ears and stuck their heads out at Ike and Soren’s approach. The powerful smell of animal and hay made Soren’s nose crinkle, and he kept his arms folded across his chest while Ike leaned over each makeshift stall.

“We’ll be on dry land soon,” Ike said, pausing to scratch Oscar’s chestnut horse on the forehead. “Mist tells me you’re all anxious to get off the ship. I’m no horse whisperer, but I take her word for it. I don’t suppose any of you can tell us where this reckless Apostle is…?”

Soren sidestepped and ducked as Greil’s destrier attempted to nibble on his hair.

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Soren said, pointing a finger at the horse.

The destrier pulled back its lips. Ike wrapped an arm around Soren’s chest and tugged him back—the horse snapped at the space where Soren’s hand had been.

“Careful,” Ike said. “Father’s horse is temperamental. Titania and Mist are the only ones who can really get close to him.”

“I—yes,” Soren said, heart racing.

Even after Ike released him and went to check the furthest stall, it was like the air was stuffier down here, closing in on all sides and making the shadows waver. Soren returned to the ladder and waited for Ike to finish his search.

Something moved in the corner of his eye.

Soren whirled around with a hand on his spellbook holstered at his hip, ready to flip to one of his last wind spells, but he dropped his hand with an irritable sigh at seeing the culprit.

“Soren? What is it?” Ike called.

“Nothing, just a child,” Soren replied. “Must have slipped on board from the Begnion ship; it was a hectic battle, after all. Maybe the Apostle isn’t the only one with poor self-preservation instincts.”

The girl in question crouched on a stack of burlap sacks beside the stalls, hidden by shadow and bolted-down crates, one knee drawn up off the floor as she cradled her ankle. It was difficult to tell her features in such low light, but her dark hair flowed over her shoulders like the matching silk of her garb, and her skin was unblemished and smooth as glazed pottery. She folded her arms and glared neatly up at Soren like he was a fly on a windowpane.

“Why would someone bring their child on board an armed ship?” Ike wondered, coming up beside Soren to give the girl a once-over.

“She could have been part of the escort,” Soren said. “Maybe she’s a diplomat’s daughter. After all, presumably no one knew they were going to be attacked.”

“I’m right here, you know,” said the girl. “You could deign to ask me what you thought instead of talking over me as if I did not possess working ears.”

Soren and Ike shared a glance.

“Awfully formal cadence for a schoolchild,” Soren muttered.

“Soren, you don’t think…”

“This girl cannot possibly be the Apostle,” Soren said matter-of-factly. “No self-respecting nation puts an eight-year-old in charge of a country.”

The girl scoffed. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, but it was not one of humor; Soren narrowed his eyes at her. He’d made that taunting smile too many times himself not to notice.

“Firstly, I’m ten years old,” said the girl, “and secondly, I crossed to your ship because it seemed relatively safer than the one I was aboard. Though you need to control your guards better. Not a single person stopped me or asked what I was doing there! I could have been a malignant spy sent to thwart your own rescue attempts, or an assassin, or…”

Ike slowly approached her and knelt down. The girl shrank back.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Are you hurt?” Ike said.

“I twisted my ankle coming down your blasted ladder,” the girl said, “but I am managing just fine, thank you very much. Who might you be?” She peered between Ike and Soren. “You certainly don’t resemble proper soldiers.”

“My name’s Ike; the grumpy one there is Soren. We’re mercenaries hired by Princess Elincia.”

“The Crimean princess? Hey! Hold it! Do not—ow!”

The girl flinched back and bumped her head against the ship’s siding. Ike had her ankle in his hands, gently turning it and pressing his fingers against the tendons. The girl squeaked.

“Ike, do you want me to fetch Rhys?” Soren asked. As amusing as it was to watch, neither he nor Ike had the same level of medical training as the Greil Mercenaries’ own healer.

“No, the bone’s not broken, so we can move her ourselves,” Ike said. He shifted around so his back was to the girl, and he motioned her to climb on. “Come on, I promise I won’t drop you. I used to carry my little sister like this all the time when we were younger.”

“Are you…helping me?” the girl asked. “Surely you have something better to do, somewhere else you must be…”

“Technically Soren and I are looking for an escaped Apostle,” Ike said, waiting for the girl to climb on and hook her arms around his neck before he grabbed her legs, “but she doesn’t seem to be down here.”

“She’s probably wasting everyone’s time with a search,” Soren said, “when in all likelihood she’s back on her own ship waiting for her attendants to realize they’re making fools of themselves.”

The girl turned her head to hide another amused smile behind Ike’s fluffy hair.

Thankfully, she stayed quiet until they reached the top deck—and Soren glared at enough people in passing to keep anyone from asking questions. As soon as he felt the late afternoon sunlight on his skin, Soren breathed easier. He twisted his fingers and caught the vestiges of a breeze while Ike flagged down Titania and Mist.

“There’s my sister,” Ike said, jostling the girl on his back by accident. “She can take a look at your ankle. She’s been training with our staff healer, so she knows what she’s doing.”

“Ike, any luck?” Titania called.

“No, but Soren found a lost kid,” Ike said. Carefully he knelt to let the girl off his back, though she kept a hand on his arm for support. Even standing straight, she was only as tall as Soren’s chest—and he only came up to Ike’s collarbone. “She twisted her ankle. Mist, can you help bind it with a brace to keep it aligned?”

Soren studied the girl’s odd appearance. Now that they were in broad daylight, she stood out like an unsorted library book. Her clothes were bright, and not just from the sun: a robe with too-big sleeves dyed crimson and threaded with gold trailed past her legs, sandals embedded with glittering rubies marked her steps, and a deep indigo sash wound several times around her tiny waist. 

_Indigo…a color reserved for the wealthy who can afford the dye,_ Soren thought. He tuned out Ike and Titania’s idle chatter and Mist’s enthusiastic babbling. _Definitely a noble. Though there’s no way she could honestly be—_

“Alright, that is it!” the girl snapped, waving off Mist’s care and stepping back, keeping her weight off her injured ankle. “I have been patient, assuming your bumbling was merely because of bad manners and plain ignorance, but I have had _enough!_ ”

Ike stood up uneasily. Soren brushed his hand on his spellbook, thumbing the clasp that kept it holstered.

The girl put two fingers to her mouth and whistled sharply. Shadows congregated over the deck as pegasus knights flocked to the call. Tanith and her blue roan landed first alongside a woman whose pegasus’s gold coat shimmered in the sunlight. The flock of knights dismounted and bowed deeply, helms held against their breastplates.

“Prepare yourselves, you peasants!” the girl declared. “You stand in the presence of Empress Sanaki, Apostle of Begnion, voice of the Goddess Ashera and Her will upon the realm of men!” Though her voice was young around the edges, it would have stilled a hall to silence.

Mist gasped and fumbled for her skirts to pull a curtsy. Titania bowed respectfully from the chest, but Ike and Soren stood awkwardly aside, brows quirked and unfazed by the exclamation.

The knight with the golden pegasus was first to rise. She shared the same gilded armor as the rest of her guard, but her cape was resplendent ivory that brushed her calves, and her thick seafoam-colored hair framed a face both soft and stern.

“Empress, are you unhurt?” she asked.

“Sigrun!” Sanaki exclaimed. “ _There_ you are!”

“My apologies for our tardiness,” Sigrun said. “We were unable to locate you…”

“Must I leave a note spelling my precise location _every_ time I wish to stretch my legs?”

“No, but when you are aboard a vessel besieged by pirates, it would do well to alert your guard when you choose to leave your quarters,” Sigrun said, her smile still polite but strained at the corners. Beside her, Tanith sighed through her nose.

Sanaki sniffed. “I suppose I am partly to blame for the circumstances,” she hedged, checking her nails. “You and your guard are absolved of guilt. We shall continue as if all accords are leveled. Now, of course we must thank these…what did they call themselves, mercenaries? These _mercenaries_ for their swift action in aiding our plight. I should like them brought to my court. And, Sigrun, be sure to invite the one they serve, that girl who claims to be the Crimean princess, as well.”

“It shall be done,” Sigrun said with a deep bow.

“…We’re right here, you know,” Ike said gruffly.

Soren shot him a look— _Please, don’t insult the highest level dignitary of the country, even if she_ is _a brat and even if she_ is _far too young for her station!_

Sanaki’s head snapped around. She still balanced her weight off her injured ankle, but somehow, even standing in a robe that drowned her short frame she managed to look imperious.

“…Ike, was it?” she said.

“Yeah.”

“You would do well to remember whose waters you sail upon. I thank you for your assistance, but hold your tongue lest you squander what hope of negotiation your employer has with me.”

Ike’s mouth opened. Soren quickly knocked his ankle against Ike’s to quiet him.

“Don’t,” Soren whispered.

Ike shut his mouth with a grumble.

“Now, I would like to meet this alleged ‘princess’,” Sanaki said. “Where may I find her?”

“She’s in her cabin,” said Ike. “I’ll take you to her.”

“Excellent. Sigrun, Tanith, remain here. I shan’t be long.”

Soren started to follow, but Ike held a hand up to stay him, glancing at the pegasus knights.

_Alright, I’ll remain to watch the Holy Guard,_ Soren thought, _not that they’ll try anything. I’ve just enough wind sigils left to clip their wings should they even dare._

Now that the battle had ended, the two ships were closing in on Cellay, the docks growing closer with each passing second. Seagulls called to one another in the skies, ducking and weaving around the pegasus knights who flanked both ships from the air. Soren kept himself beside the railing, far enough away from Tanith and Sigrun to act like they weren’t there, but just close enough to watch them for signs of trouble.

When the ships finally banked next to the well-kept docks, Ike and Sanaki returned, accompanied by Elincia—who’d changed back into her more refined dress undamaged by sun or salt. Sanaki’s limp was barely noticeable as she held on to Elincia’s elbow. Ike sidestepped around them to come stand next to Soren. His eyelid twitched.

“How bad was it?” Soren asked in an undertone.

“I hate politics,” Ike mumbled back. “No one ever says what they mean…”

“Sigrun!” Sanaki barked. “Please ready your guard. Elincia and I shall return to Sienne via pegasus at once.”

“Wait, hang on,” Ike said. “I thought we were taking passage from Cellay!”

“ _You_ are,” Sanaki said, gesturing vaguely at the ship. “I’d rather not waste precious time waiting for a group of mercenaries to arrange transportation to the capital. But, I suppose since _you’re_ the commander, you may accompany us by air as well.”

Ike shook his head. “I may lead the Greil Mercenaries,” he said, “but I’m not leaving them all behind. Nor am I willing to let Princess Elincia out of our immediate care. Where she goes, we all go.”

“Ike, you don’t need to,” Elincia said softly. “I’m certain the Empress’s Holy Guard is more than capable of defending me.”

“It’s not that I doubt them. I just feel better when my friends are close by.”

_And if the Apostle wanted to make a move against Elincia,_ Soren thought, _having her alone on a two-day flight would be the perfect opportunity. Though Ike is far too trusting to consider that possibility…_

Tanith wore an irritable frown, and Sigrun’s patient smile wavered, but all Sanaki did was wave a hand at him like she was shooing away a mosquito.

“Fine, fine, be mulish,” she said. “We’ve landed in Cellay anyhow. Tanith, will you arrange a suite of carriages for them?”

“Yes, Empress,” said Tanith.

Sanaki limped to Sigrun, who bowed and helped her into the saddle of her golden pegasus. Sigrun mounted up behind her.

“I suppose we shall see you in Sienne,” Sanaki said, finally able to physically look down at them. “Tanith shall meet you at the stables north of Cellay. Good afternoon to you.”

Soren and Ike stepped back as Sigrun took off, followed by the rest of her knights who’d landed on the deck. The flock wheeled once in a circle above the docks before breaking east, chasing the remaining daylight while the sun set behind them.

As soon as the knights left, Ike buried his face in his hands and groaned into them. Elincia patted him sympathetically on the shoulder and withdrew, calling to Titania and Mist to help her rally the others, while those few above deck hurried to tether their ship to the dock and begin the long disembarkment process.

“…I definitely insulted her,” Ike said finally.

“Who, the Empress?” Soren said. “Yes, I’m almost certain you did, Ike.”

Ike groaned again.

“You essentially told her you didn’t think her protection was suitable enough! Honestly, I’m surprised she didn’t refuse to see Elincia at all after that. She’s likely plotting something.”

“I don’t want to be above anyone in my company,” Ike said. “That was my justification.”

“Ike, you’re literally their commander.”

“Yes, but—” Ike sighed. “Father wouldn’t have left everyone else behind. He wouldn’t abandon his entire company in unknown territory to fend for themselves while he gallivanted off with strangers.”

“Maybe not,” Soren said, “but you may have to. We’re in Begnion now—they play by rules we commonfolk were never meant to learn. Every action has a consequence.”

“Then I’ll have to make sure you’re with me to keep me from stepping on any toes just by drinking from the wrong glass.”

Soren scoffed. “You jest, but I would not put it past court etiquette here to require specific glasses for specific drinks.”

“At least we won’t be here long,” Ike said. He caught Soren’s skeptical look and frowned. “…Right?”

“That depends on what aid the Apostle decides to grant Elincia,” Soren said. “She could still refuse her entirely and send us back the way we came. Or she could force Elincia to fulfill some performative task, sign negotiations, promise Begnion a tithe…in any case, I wouldn’t expect our contract with the Princess to end for maybe two, three weeks at the earliest. It depends how far she’s willing to employ us to seek her crown.”

“I was afraid of that,” Ike said, rubbing his eyes.

_Stress,_ Soren noted, _and the beginnings of a headache. At least we’ll have relative peace from here to Sienne, provided no bandits strike us on the road and no other self-entitled fools rear their heads._

He traced the spine of his now-battered spellbook at his hip. Only a few sigils left: three wind, six thunder, two fire. At least stopping in civilization would give him the chance to buy a freshly bound spellbook.

Soren wobbled when he finally disembarked onto the docks. He stood to the side, letting the other mercenaries cross back and forth, and began jotting down inventory in his folio as he saw it pass. The wind tousled his long ponytail and tugged at his sleeves.

_Well, Begnion,_ he thought, _throw your worst at us. I’ll see to it that Ike doesn’t drown in all your excess ostentation._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont like this chapter but w/e it's done


	49. Chapter 49

Goldoa’s central plains swept across the horizon in waves of golden grass. Wind rippled across the landscape like the undulating scales of some great beast; stiff-peaked mountains carved from centuries of wind and snow lined the horizon from end to end. Huge alluvial fans spread sediment for miles, dotted with scraggly trees and the scruffy grasses that made their home within the sun-beaten basin.

Ranulf yawned wide enough to bare his teeth.

Tiredly he swept a paw across his face and grimaced when flecks of mica came off on his muzzle. They’d been traveling for three weeks over forest and steep highland, and both his paw pads and his heels in beorcian form were covered in blisters. The instant they’d reached Gallia’s border with Goldoa in the Ertz Mountains, dragon laguz had escorted them each new day of travel. Ranulf would try and make conversation as best he could, but no matter how much innate charm he threw at them, the Goldoans would either ignore him entirely or regurgitate the same lines about patience being a virtue in their country.

“You know, the trip would be a lot quicker if we flew there on your backs,” he’d said to one of them over dinner. “We’d reach Goldoa Castle with more than a week to spare. Say, is it just Goldoa, or Goldoa City? Did you name your capital after the country or the country after the capital?”

The red dragon he’d been talking to curled their lip and snarled something so sour it had ruined Ranulf’s appetite all evening.

_Just ten more steps,_ Ranulf thought, ears back against his skull as he padded up wide stone stairs under the blistering sun. _And ten more after that, then ten more after_ that _, and by the_ Goddess _who thought to carve a staircase straight up the side of a mountain? I’m fit and trim without the burden of some extra cardio, thank you very much!_

Giffca trailed behind him on silent pawsteps, and Caineghis himself led the way up the long flight of stairs carved into the mountainside towards Goldoa Castle. Two white dragons with elegant fin-like horns and rippling dorsal crests accompanied the cats on their ascent. Thick sloped walls surrounded the gargantuan castle grounds as if the place had been carved from the inside out, leaving the mountain’s natural slopes as a line of defense—not that anyone was fool enough to try. The castle’s central tower rose above the walls like a serpent’s neck. Ranulf craned his head to see and bumped into Giffca by accident. He mewed an apology and hurried to level ground.

As soon as they reached the wide castle yard, the white dragons shifted into two women with the same horns and frill around their faces and sharp claws for fingernails. Each bore Goldoa’s crest hammered into a pewter clasp at the shoulder and a disc of snowflake obsidian underneath.

“The King asks that all foreign parties resume beorcian form before entering the Gathering,” said one.

“We shall bring you to the assembly yard,” said her companion. “Do not stray from our sight, and do not touch what is not yours.”

Caineghis nodded. In a flash he stepped forward on two legs, followed quickly by Ranulf and Giffca. The dragon laguz nodded politely and bade them follow onto the castle grounds.

Ranulf whistled under his breath. The Goldoan castle was a work of art—if you liked heights and a severe lack of greenery. Most of the wing the white dragons led them through was built from the same buff-and-dun sandstone, accented here and there with banded quartzite and deep black volcanic rock. Though it was made of rough stone, the columns and floors were weathered smooth as marble, and innate specks of quartz and mica shimmered under the sun. Deep red and black tapestries hung from the balconies emblazoned with Goldoa’s silver dragon emblem.

Laguz moved through the shadows and patches of light and peered suspiciously at the Gallians as they walked. Ranulf’s tail twitched nervously.

“I don’t suppose we’re getting a personal tour,” he murmured to Giffca.

Giffca grunted. His moustache was ever-hard to read, but Ranulf thought he saw the man twitch out a dry smile.

_Victory enough for me,_ Ranulf thought.

The assembly yard was a carefully swept square surrounded by balconies and shaded overhangs with a wide, shallow pool in its center. Dried garlands of grass from the plains hung between the balconies and scented the air like dust and hop flowers. Though the Gathering took place on the day of the new moon, no one wished to meet under cover of darkness, and while Ranulf could see the logic in it—bird laguz didn’t have nightvision, after all—having to stand around under the beating sun was not high on his list of fun events.

The birds were already there—King Tibarn of Phoenicis, a broad-chested man with golden-brown wings who insisted on wearing vests that bared his chiseled abs, flanked by his two hawk attendants wearing more modest jerkins. Naesala, King of Kilvas, pointedly stood close enough to be in Tibarn’s sightlines but just far enough away to not provoke him, dressed in fine black-and-navy leathers much too warm for the climate. His elderly chamberlain was seated on a chair pulled out from under the balcony.

Ranulf’s eyes widened. A slim man with long blonde hair and tense posture stood at Tibarn’s side wearing an expression of pure discontent. His white wings were folded gracefully behind him and matched the fabric of his embroidered robe to the hue.

_No way,_ Ranulf thought, ogling the heron laguz. _Prince Reyson is here? Huh. I thought he would be with King Lorazieh, but maybe he’s attending the Gathering in his father’s stead?_

If Caineghis was surprised to see one of the heron tribe, he kept his face neutral. He led Ranulf and Giffca to a spot along one side of the shallow pool to let the ambient moisture soothe their skin.

Naesala leaned to his chamberlain and whispered something, earning him a swift nudge on the ankle. Ranulf rolled his eyes.

A long tenorous bell sounded from the north balcony. King Dheginsea of Goldoa, a tall man of olive skin and middle-aged complexion, strode into the open yard. The bald gleam of his head only made the horns along his jawline stand out more, like bare branches in winter; the two longest horns swept straight back from his temple parallel to his slender ears and were adorned with flaky gold leaf. The two tails of his moustache trailed down either side of his ever-frowning lips.

At his side was the youngest Goldoan Prince, Kurthnaga, dressed in similar black-robed splendor with gold leaf adorning his horns as well. Both King and Prince wore deep green-black capelets clasped at the shoulder with a disc of solid black obsidian.

Not a soul spoke. Dheginsea waved his hand at the attendants lined up under the western balcony. At once they swept among the gathered parties, offering silver trays of iced mint tea and honey locusts.

Ranulf watched Caineghis carefully and mimicked his every move. Take the glass, but do not drink. Take the food, but do not eat. Wait for everyone to be served. Watch the Dragon King.

As soon as Dheginsea raised his glass in toast and drank, the other leaders followed suit, and Ranulf eagerly downed the contents. He shivered as the cold tea ran down his throat.

_Better not get brainfreeze,_ he thought belatedly. _That wouldn’t be a good look for Caineghis…_

“May you find no quarrel here,” proclaimed Dheginsea, his voice deep as a drum, “for I share my food and drink under the terms of hospitality.”

“May you have our thanks,” recited the other laguz.

The Goldoan attendants withdrew from the yard. Only when they were gone did Ranulf breathe.

Caineghis stepped forward first. Despite the wear of travel on his garb, he still looked resplendent under the sunlight—he’d made sure to bring his finest court trappings, including the Gallian green sash across his chest fringed with golden cats’ head tokens. He surveyed the group and respectfully nodded to each leader in turn.

“My fellow countrymen,” he addressed, his voice echoing from the yard’s natural acoustics, “I must thank you all for agreeing to this Gathering. It has been many long years since we have met like this. I extend my deepest gratitude to King Dheginsea, who arranged this meeting on such short notice.”

_‘Short notice’ for laguz being months, not years,_ Ranulf thought. _Beorc would consider such a wait time normal for a formal event! Oh, Ike, if only you were around to complain to, you’d get a hoot out of this!_

Dheginsea said nothing. He bowed his head, sun gleaming off his horns and bare skull, and let Caineghis carry on.

The King of Gallia surveyed the other laguz royals and their attendants. “As you have undoubtedly heard by now, Daein has invaded Crimea and overrun its capital and citizens. Of course, both are beorc nations, but since the time of its founding Crimea has made every effort to engage us laguz with honor and dignity. Never has this been truer than during the thirty-year reign of good King Ramon. During his rule, Gallia and Crimea initiated many ambitious cultural projects and negotiations in an effort to bring our divided people closer.”

Naesala rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his doublet. Caineghis spared him a measured look and continued:

“Yet the King of Daein, Ashnard, reviles this effort. He inherited a throne built upon laguz persecution and racist endeavors to burn our people from the soils of Tellius. His army has slaughtered many of Crimea’s people. They live in fear and terror. King Ramon is dead. And now, Daein forces continue their ruinous march and cross the border into my kingdom, into Gallia, into laguz territory with no signs of stopping.”

Tibarn raised a wing. “That trespass, Lion King,” he said, “is because Gallia chooses to harbor King Ramon’s orphan, is it not?”

“That is their apparent justification,” Caineghis sighed. Ranulf caught the growl behind his king’s words and straightened.

“But the Crimean Princess is no longer in Gallia.”

Caineghis’s eyes crinkled as he gave Tibarn a wan smile.

“Your spies are as efficient as ever,” he said. “No, she has departed for Begnion two months ago. Likely she has reached their shores by now, though I’ve yet to confirm it.”

“She’s there, all right,” Tibarn said. “She came to the aid of a ship carrying Begnion’s Apostle. Saw it myself—and with my other eyes and ears, of course.”

His two attendants stood a little taller at the implicit praise. Ranulf tried not to grumble. The hawk laguz were fine enough—when they weren’t boasting about their sense of perception compared to the cat tribes. The shorter one, Janaff, was humorous enough to manage conversation with, but the taller one, Ulki, spoke little and dryly like his words were taken from the bottom of a drought-drained riverbed.

“Ah!” Caineghis said. “Then Princess Elincia is safe and in contact with the Begnion Theocracy? That news gladdens my heavy heart.”

“I do not believe Daein has this information yet,” Tibarn said, holding up a tanned palm in caution. “If word got out that the lost Crimean princess has been granted sanctuary in Begnion, Daein _might_ halt its invasion of Gallia. There’d be no point attempting to cross the Sea of Trees if their prize is no longer at the end.”

“Ha!” Naesala barked. “Your information is dated, Hawk King! What, have your legendary eyes and ears finally failed you after all these years?”

Tibarn grimaced like he’d swallowed a rotten plum. Through gritted teeth, he turned to Naesala and, refusing to look directly at the man, said, “If you have something you wish to say, crow, then say it.”

Naesala leaned back onto his heels, showing off the polish of his boots. “We all know King Ramon’s spawn, dear sweet Princess Elincia, barely escaped Crimea with her life and then fled to Gallia. And then a certain king of beasts over there, the one on whom she pinned all her hopes and dreams, refused to support her! This is all common knowledge.”

He waved a hand at Caineghis. Ranulf’s tail twitched, watching his king for any signs of aggression, but while Caineghis frowned deeply he stayed immobile, not rising to the bait.

Naesala snorted out a laugh and continued, “ _However_ , with nowhere else to turn, the princess and her retinue spent two long months at sea to reach Begnion—at the kind suggestion of King Caineghis for lack of _actual_ help. She reached their shores three days ago and is currently in Sienne breaking bread with the Apostle! Daein knows this! The last _I_ heard, Mad King Ashnard dispatched leagues of soldiers to make a corpse of the girl and any who stand by her side.”

Caineghis growled. “So,” he said, “Daein knows Elincia is in Begnion. Pray tell, Raven King, how King Ashnard came to know this.”

Naesala bounced forward onto his toes, leaning with his wings splayed back for balance. He coyly quirked a brow at Caineghis.

“What, you think _I_ told him?” he asked innocently.

“I wouldn’t suspect anyone else,” Tibarn said, the muscles of his arms stiffening as he crossed them over his chest. “If a matter involves human scum, who else is liable to stoop so low than you?”

“Why, Tibarn, you wound me!” Naesala said, stepping back with a hand over his heart. “But is that not the way of Phoenicis? Clinging to the remnants of your pride and casting stones at those who adapt to the times? Instead of proclaiming that you attack none but Begnion ships, just admit you lack the power to do more!”

Tibarn’s wings flared. He took a menacing step towards Naesala.

“Desist at once!” boomed King Dheginsea. “There is no petty violence during a Gathering! You know the rules. Act under provocation again and you will be dismissed.”

Tibarn returned to Reyson’s side. Naesala hid a smile and stepped back closer to the balcony’s shadow. Ranulf let out a pent-up breath, feeling his hackles lower, though his own tail had fluffed to twice its size.

Dheginsea’s forehead wrinkled as he glared at each leader in turn. Beside him, his son Kurthnaga carried none of his father’s anger—just sadness.

“I want something done about Naesala’s double-crossing actions,” Tibarn said. “I know he’s been sneaking about in my territory. And if he is selling laguz information to humans, he must pay for that with blood, not gold.”

“Now, come on,” Naesala said, “we didn’t call this Gathering just to accuse _me_ , right? I never said I was selling information! And _I_ didn’t venture across your skies, you know.”

“You personally did not,” Dheginsea interrupted, “but you authorized a Kilvan assault on a beorc vessel navigating the Strait one month ago and stranded it on Goldoan shores.”

“It’s true,” Kurthnaga said. Even though he looked barely nineteen and his voice was soft, he spoke the same authority as his father. “I saw to their aid myself. Considering the timing and the beorc crew, it is likely that that ship was Princess Elincia’s vessel.”

“My patience for your rivalry has grown thin,” said Dheginsea, looking between Tibarn and Naesala. “I care not for the reach of your ambitions, but you must choose your methods with more care. Kilvas, you wish for treasure and territory, but it will bite you when you find enemies at your every border. Phoenicis, you raid Begnion for revenge against the heron tribe, yet you incur their wrath at every turn. Continue these follies and you risk Begnion’s ire against all laguz.”

“I refuse to stop until those bastards apologize for the slaughter of Reyson’s brethren,” Tibarn said, voice low and sharp.

Ranulf shivered.

Dheginsea turned to the heron prince, who until now had kept a stubborn silence, mouth set firm and fury brewing across his soft features. Prince Reyson of Serenes tilted his head back and snapped his white wings behind him like sails.

“Humans torched Serenes Forest and killed my people,” he said. “No amount of human blood can slake my thirst for vengeance. I demand justice for my brother and sisters, for my bedridden father, for every tribesman murdered and every tree burned! I ally with Phoenicis. I will not see Tibarn stop until Begnion has paid with their lives.”

_Good grief, and I thought herons were supposed to be peace-loving!_ Ranulf thought as Reyson brought his wings close underneath Tibarn’s. _Reyson looks ready to throw punches at the next person who says maybe beorc aren’t so bad._

Dheginsea shook his head. “Violence begets violence,” he said, “and blood spills blood. Revenge is simply another name for murder. I implore you to calm yourself and reevaluate your personal goals.”

Reyson’s hands curled into fists. Tibarn slipped an arm around his waist and kept him close to his side, shielding him with one of his large wings.

“King Caineghis, what will Gallia do?” Dheginsea asked. “Now that you know Daein’s movements are nothing but another feint in their war strategy.”

“They have made no formal declaration of war,” said Caineghis in a steady rumble, “and until they do, we watch and wait. We strengthen our border along the Sea of Trees. And we withhold action.”

“If chasing Daein out of Gallia is the first step towards eradicating all humans, my hawks will gladly help,” Tibarn said.

“No,” Caineghis said sternly. “Unless this becomes a true war across Tellius—Goddess forbid—I ask you stay your talons. Gallia is more than capable of outlasting an enemy at our forest.”

“Ah, the luxury of a large nation,” Naesala said just loud enough to carry. Nealuchi reached for him with his cane, but Naesala easily sidestepped.

“I must ask you to follow Gallia’s lead,” said Dheginsea. “Stay your hands and control your citizens. If we formed a laguz alliance against Daein, we would drive Begnion to their side and lose a potential ally.”

Tibarn scoffed.

“Above all, we must think of Lehran’s Medallion. Its location is unknown…”

Dheginsea glanced meaningfully at Tibarn and Naesala, but both men stayed quiet. Goldoa’s king sighed.

“…but it still exists. We cannot allow war to engulf Tellius from shore to shore. Do you understand? Set aside your conflicts, rein in your ambition, otherwise you risk calamity. Do not forget this. With that, I conclude this Gathering. May you find safe winds and fair weather.”

“May you rest in peaceful thoughts,” replied the laguz.

Ranulf’s muscles were stiff with tension as he followed Caineghis and Giffca back through the castle towards the front yard. He shook out one leg, then the other, then his tail and arms in one whole shiver. Dragons watched him and the other two Gallians closely—some beorcian with their arms upon obsidian daggers or spears, others shifted and lurking in corridors and behind great stone balconies. Ranulf focused on his feet and counted the tiles until the hall merged with the outer grounds.

A polite cough made him jump.

“Oh, my apologies,” said Kurthnaga, coming up alongside Ranulf. “I did not mean to startle you. May we speak in private for a moment?”

“As long as this isn’t an attempt to bring me aside just to murder me,” Ranulf quipped. He grinned, but his eyes darted to either side of Kurthnaga, measuring the distances should he need to sprint.

“Nothing of the sort. I merely wished to have a word.”

Ranulf glanced over his shoulder at the outer yard. Caineghis was busy with Giffca, though when he saw Ranulf his tail twitched once, twice. _Be quick about it._

Ranulf nodded and followed Prince Kurthnaga around the side of a banded stone pillar to an alcove inlaid with pewter tiles. A small sconce made from thin slices of gemstones soldered together with metal burned at an eye-level niche.

“I take it we’re not having some of Goldoa’s famous oolong tea?” Ranulf asked.

“I wish that was the case, but no,” Kurthnaga said. He kept his voice genial but low. Ranulf’s ears twitched forward catching the underlying strain in the prince’s tone. “In truth, I’m asking you a favor.”

“Goodness, why, if you want to visit Zarzi I’m afraid you’ll need the King’s permission—I’m just his aide.”

“Have any laguz gone missing in the past three months?”

Ranulf paused, lips parted. Kurthnaga hurriedly filled the space between them:

“I ask because my father is too prideful and refuses to investigate or even admit something is wrong. But laguz are disappearing. The wing we sent in search of my brother so long ago…they never returned. In the eighteen years since, soldiers have periodically vanished without a trace from the fringes of our borders. And these instances have only increased in recent months. My sister has withdrawn within her grief and my father will not act, but I refuse to sit idly by. I ask you not as a prince but as a fellow laguz: do you know anything about this?”

Ranulf rubbed his jaw. Kurthnaga didn’t seem the type to fake sympathy—that, or he was damn good at it—and his frequent glances at the hall meant he was taking a risk by even being here.

“…Yeeees,” Ranulf hedged, “but I’m trying to figure out how much I can say.”

“Any information you have would be most appreciated.”

Ranulf’s tail swished around his calves. _King Caineghis,_ he thought, _I’m only acting with Gallia’s best interests, so if you find out, please don’t cry treason!_

“It’s not us, for one thing,” he said. “Gallia has more than enough problems with beorc now to forcibly invite other laguz over for a feast. But…we’ve had missing troops. Entire scouting parties—both cats and tigers—disappearing near the Crimea border. Bodies never found. Sure, sometimes a laguz would get caught up in a racist beorc hunting party, but King Ramon made those a thing of the not-too-distant past. These kidnappings didn’t start until Daein invaded Crimea and leaked into our own territory.”

“You say kidnappings,” Kurthnaga said. “By whom? Daein?”

“Not out of the question. I doubt Begnion would waste the resources. And no bodies were found—if this was an intimidation attempt, why not kill the captives and display their corpses as a show of power?”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Kurthnaga. “Thank you, Ranulf. You’ve given me much to think about. Now, I shan’t keep you or your shadow waiting—the journey to Gallia is long on foot.”

“My shadow…?”

Ranulf suddenly sighed, rolling his head back.

“ _Hey,_ Giffca.”

The space behind the stone pillar purred.

“He’s quite good at his job,” Kurthnaga said, grinning. “I did not even notice him for the first minute!”

“You flatter me, Highness,” said the other side of the pillar.

Kurthnaga chuckled. He shook Ranulf’s hand and bowed politely in exit; once Ranulf dipped the same courtesy he headed for the outer grounds, Giffca trailing his steps.

“It was prudent of you to tell the Dragon Prince,” Giffca rumbled.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Giffca."

“This news is most troubling. We must strengthen our watch. Ask the birds if they have seen similar patterns.”

“Not that they’d tell us,” Ranulf griped. “Y’know, that’s probably why the prince asked _me_ ; aside from my good looks and impeccable charm, I’m not liable to withhold information out of pettiness.”

Giffca nodded sagely. “This is true. Those qualities will make you an excellent right paw when Skrimir ascends the throne.”

Ranulf’s tail drooped. “Oh, come on, can’t you assign me some _other_ torture? Anything that doesn’t involve watching a lion smash his head into a rock for five hours a day would be ideal.”

“Hmph. The king’s nephew has much to learn. I suspect he will not be ready for his proceedings for years yet. One problem at a time.”

_One problem at a time,_ Ranulf echoed, shifting into cat form along with the two lions. He stretched, flexed his claws, and started padding down the long stairway to the basin’s floor flanked by two red dragon laguz. Overhead, the bird tribes were soaring home, keeping several miles’ distance between them despite heading in the same general direction. Ranulf blew a sigh through his whiskers.

_One problem at a time…one tangled, thorny problem at a time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> half of this chapter was me constructing plausible geology for the region and geeking out over sedimentary basins and a former continental rift just to determine what rocks the castle would be built from because i have a degree in this schist
> 
> "i wonder where all those enemy feral ones came from?" well 😬


	50. PART THREE- TRUTH- Chapter 50

The King had promised to take Elincia to Begnion someday.

“When you are older,” he said, “and I do not need to worry for your safety and the crown, I shall take you to meet the Empress. Mehru is the spitting image of dear late Misaha. Her elegance matches that of the great blue herons atop the water.”

“Oh, Father, that would be wonderful!” Elincia had said. All of eight years old, and she longed to see as many sights as she could—castles and courtyards, forests and farms, anything other than the fields around her estate and the infrequent visits of her parents. Geoffrey insisted he’d someday be a Royal Knight and ferry her across the land, but Lucia had listed so many reasons why that wouldn’t work that Geoffrey got fed up and left the two girls to their giggles.

She’d reached up her tiny hands and let her father, Ramon, twirl her in circles above his head. He brought her close into a hug and blew raspberries against her cheeks.

“Father, no, that tickles!” Elincia protested. “Your whiskers!”

“What, you mean my handsome mustache? This has won me many a negotiation, my sweet.”

“No way! I’ll bet they only said ‘yes’ to get your tickly whiskers out of there!”

Ramon kissed her again upon the brow. “You will understand when you are older and more versed in politics,” he’d said, “though I pray you need not learn for many years yet…”

Elincia laid her head against the cool glass of the carriage window and watched the rolling meadows and valleys pass by. Her eighteen-year-old reflection stared wistfully back at her. Her hair had lost some of its sheen; she still had creases under her eyes from a poor night’s sleep; even her dress had been hurriedly purchased with Mist’s help back in Cellay to give her a more presentable option for the Apostle’s audience. Saffron silk and tight sleeves felt suddenly out of place given the loose garb and blustery winds of the sea.

Tanith, true to her word, had arranged a carriage procession for Elincia and the Greil Mercenaries all the way to Sienne, though she insisted on flying with them.

“It’s a matter of protocol,” she’d said. “And I would like to have a word with one of your company, Marcia. She neglected to inform my flock she was leaving on a wild goose chase. I won’t take any drastic actions, but she is in trouble with myself and Commander Sigrun.”

“That’s fine by me,” Ike had said. “Just don’t get into a shouting match; a lot of us are tired and would welcome a quiet first leg of this trip.”

Marcia looked ready to dig a hole and bury herself in it.

Elincia never caught their conversation, but with two pegasus knights above and more than enough eyes within the procession, Elincia let herself slip back into the almost-forgotten security of one befitting her status. Escorts to every occasion. Attendants in her periphery. Never truly alone, not really, not with servants and guards bent to her every whim.

Her fingers tensed on the seat. Suddenly every passing tree held an archer, every shadow was black armor, and the curtains were Crimean rose gold and she was on her way to Gallia because Father told her it would be safer there and that King Caineghis would grant her asylum but wyverns moved faster than horses and Daeins were in her forests her country her _carriage_ —

A soft hand rested on her knuckles.

“Are you alright, Princess?” Titania murmured.

Elincia nodded slowly. Breathe in, breathe out. Blink away the memory. Stop shaking.

Titania was sitting next to her, Mist asleep with her head on the dame knight’s lap; Ike and Soren were opposite them reading from the same book. Hoofbeats thundered along the packed-dirt road. Across the valley, the tall bluestone arches and sharp-slanted rooftops of Sienne loomed into focus.

“We’re safe,” Titania said. “We’ll reach Sienne by midafternoon. It’s okay.”

“I—thank you, my lady Titania,” Elincia said. She swallowed and then winced at how dry her throat had gone. Titania handed her a waterskin. “I admit I’m curious what that large tower is…do you see it? Even from miles away, it stands above the city like a beacon…”

“That would be the Tower of Guidance,” Soren said without looking up from his book. Ike turned a page for him and kept reading while Soren continued, “Begnion, being a theocracy dedicated to Ashera, centered their country around their holy artifact—a tower said to house the Goddess Herself, though it’s mainly a monument meant to keep the population in line via threat of holy judgment.”

“It’s not a _threat_ ,” Titania emphasized gently. “For Begnion, the Goddess truly slumbers there, and has been since the dark god was vanquished so many centuries ago. They worship Her more fervently than any other place in Tellius. Ashera’s presence among their people is fact as far as they’re concerned.”

“Forgive me for being a _skeptic_ , then.”

Titania hummed, keeping her posture still as Mist adjusted her position in her sleep. Titania rested her other hand on Mist’s head and ran her thumb across her tawny hair.

Elincia returned her gaze to the ever-approaching city. The carriages were drawn by teams of six horses apiece, and swapping fresh beasts at every stop kept them going at a healthy pace. Within hours they crossed through the capital’s gates.

Sienne’s sprawl met them underfoot first. The carriage jolted as the horses crossed from well-packed dirt onto granite-sett streets quarried in diamond-shaped patterns. Mist jerked awake at the shock.

“Oh, wow!” she said, pressing her nose up against the carriage window on her side. “Brother, look!”

“I see it,” Ike said tensely. His eyes flickered to the city walls pressing in upon them and back to his and Soren’s book. Elincia longed to reach a hand out to rest upon his knee, but she kept her fingers to herself, lacing them in her lap as she took in the sights.

Sienne dwarfed Melior twice over and then some. Spires topped with winding balconies dominated the skyline and hid the lush green valley behind a screen of bluestone and brick. Beorc bustled in the streets, though they respectfully cleared the way once they heard the carriages. Flags with Begnion’s gold-and-white crest hung from every oil-burning lamppost; parks with trimmed saplings and gardens adorned the spaces between crowded districts; beorc of all ages waved their hands and scarves as the procession passed. Elincia waved back.

Temples large and small with wide triangular roofs ran in orderly rings around the Tower of Guidance in the city’s center. As the carriages approached the Tower, the largest temple of all—two stories above the nearest church, adorned with climbing ivy and a steeple that pierced the heavens—stood immaculate and immovable as the polished stone it was hewn from.

The carriages halted on the street outside the grand temple’s outer courtyard. Acolytes in teal-and-gray robes approached, but Ike opened the carriage doors without waiting for them. Elincia caught the acolytes’ confused looks and quickly bobbed a curtsy to apologize. The whole company—all twenty-six of them, including Nasir and the Daein girl, Jill—griped and groaned and stretched their aching muscles as soon as they were clear of the carriages.

Tanith landed her pegasus alongside a miserable-looking Marcia and came over to Elincia’s group. She bowed from the chest and braced her helmet under one arm.

“Princess Elincia of Crimea, it is my honor to welcome you to Sienne, seat of the Holy Apostle and Empress of Begnion,” Tanith said. “Mainal Cathedral is proud to host you and your companions for the duration of your stay. Quarters have been prepared for you and your retinue. If you would please follow me, I’ll direct you to Commander Sigrun, who should have more directions and an estimated schedule for the rest of the day.”

“The Apostle is overjoyed to have you,” said Sigrun when Elincia, Ike, Soren, and Titania met with her along one of the exterior hallways. Mist had peeled off from their group to shadow Rhys, eagerly pointing out every flower she could identify from the planters. “I daresay this is the most excited she’s been in years!”

“Somehow I highly doubt that,” Soren muttered just loud enough for Ike and Elincia to hear. Ike gently bopped his friend on the shoulder.

Sigrun took them around a long covered hallway broken up by arced pillars and a low stone wall that ran around the temple’s central quadrangle. Manicured gardens of herbaceous plants and delicate flowers criss-crossed the yard to form a mosaic around a central statue—a tall woman cast in bronze with long feather-edged sleeves and a serene smile. Elincia barely had time to get a look at the statue’s grace before Sigrun opened a door and led them through the temple interior. Thin woven carpets ran the length of each stone-floored hallway, lit in dazzling colors by the stained glass windows along every wall.

“Princess, your rooms are here, in our suite for visiting dignitaries,” Sigrun said, indicating a carved mahogany door. “Commander Ike has been given a similar suite adjoining yours. The rest of his company, barring his primary officers—,” she indicated Soren and Titania, “—will stay across the grounds.”

“Wait, no, I never agreed to this,” Ike said, stopping in the middle of the hall. A few passing servants gave him a puzzled look as they shuffled past him. “It doesn’t sit right for me to have some fancy suite while the rest of my company has to deal with shared rooms or cramped quarters. I’m not willing to accept that level of disparity.”

Sigrun’s pleasant smile turned pitying, and her expression mimicked that of a mother witnessing a child’s first endeavors to defy reality.

“I…can speak with the Apostle,” she allowed, “but I’m afraid these are the preparations we made in advance for your arrival. The remainder of your company have been given accommodations in the Rose Wing across the gardens. Rest assured, they will not be out of reach, nor will they share quarters with any of the lesser class.”

“…‘Lesser’?” Ike repeated.

“The servants and stablehands—employees of the Empress, not acolytes or nobility.”

“I see.”

Elincia shivered; Ike’s tone had dropped so low it was a wonder no ice crystals formed under his boots.

“Ike, drop it,” Soren murmured.

Ike’s fists clenched, but he released them, shaking out the tension in his fingers. He nodded at Sigrun to continue her tour.

Chapels, kitchens, side yards. Library, dining halls, sitting rooms. Elincia did her best to memorize everything Sigrun was saying, but the sheer amount of new information and geography fought against her tired muscles and longing to return to her new bed and sleep the rest of the afternoon away.

Outside the library doors, a servant trotted up to Sigrun and whispered something in her ear. Sigrun nodded and sent him away.

“I know you must be tired,” Sigrun said apologetically to Elincia, “but the Apostle has requested your presence in her audience chamber. She and the Senate would like to hear your case.”

“Right now?” Ike said.

“They do not like to be kept waiting.”

“We shall attend them at once,” Elincia said. Ike and Soren exchanged a glance, but Elincia pressed on, not wanting to disrupt any more customs than she had already just by being there. “Please, lead the way.”

Thankfully, the audience chamber was not far—down a flight of stairs at the center of the temple, marked by double doors and proliferous flower vases too obvious to miss. Sigrun escorted them to the doors and stood to one side.

“I shall wait for your clearance,” she explained, “and to help ensure no one interrupts the hearing.”

“People actually do that?” Titania asked.

“Only when heated.” Sigrun chuckled. “Why, there was one time not two years ago when a man barged into the chamber shouting about his—”

“We get it, you’re the auxiliary guard, let’s go,” Soren said impatiently. He almost walked in—and caught himself with a hand on the door, begrudgingly stepping back next to Ike to let Elincia enter first.

Elincia took a deep breath. The advantage of thick skirts was no one could see how badly her knees shook.

With a nod from Ike at her side, Elincia pressed her hand against the door and shoved it in.

The first thing that struck her was the window. A great circle made of stained glass framed a marble throne and cast the room in shades of rue and peony. Like the other stained glass around the temple, the window was a mosaic of color soldered in a metal frame, but rather than iron, the metal within the window gleamed silver and gold like intertwined vines.

The Apostle sat on a throne twice her size, elevated on a dais that flowed across the hall. Her crimson robe folded over an extra cushion set onto the throne to boost her height. Surrounding her behind a semicircular stone desk were seven withering men in tailored gold-and-white suits and elegant sashes.

Well, withering except for one. Elincia and Ike both raised their brow at a familiar face among the officials.

Sephiran, the pilgrim Ike rescued what felt like so long ago, was seated behind Sanaki’s throne with the poise of an egret.

 _How did he make it all the way from Toha to Sienne?_ Elincia thought. _And a senator, no less! Was he perhaps…no, he would not have bothered getting captured by Daein soldiers merely for the chance to spy on me. That seems most counterproductive._

Before she or Ike or anyone could ask, Apostle Sanaki cleared her throat. She rested her hands upon the throne’s polished armrests.

“I will now hear the claims of the alleged Crimean Princess,” she said. “As Apostle and Empress, I, Sanaki Kirsch Altina, hold ultimate authority and speak with the voice of the Goddess Ashera. Assisting me in my judgment is my Senate: Dukes Sephiran, Lekain, Numida, Oliver, Hetzel, Seliora, and Valtome.”

One by one the men tilted their chins when Sanaki mentioned them. Elincia curtsied to each in turn.

“For formality’s sake: you proclaim yourself to be Princess Elincia Ridell Crimea, orphan daughter of Crimea’s late King Ramon and Queen Ofelia. Correct?”

“Yes,” Elincia said, bowing her head. A few strands of hair brushed past the bare skin of her neck.

“I have heard such stories, that King Ramon had a daughter in secret,” Sanaki continued, sitting back against her cushions and tapping her chin. “When I was chosen by the Goddess and appointed Apostle and Empress, I was informed of the…situation. However, just because a story is true, that does not mean _you_ are that lost princess. Any girl off the streets could claim she was the hidden heir. Even someone outside Crimea could pretend she was exiled in order to remain a secret. Do you have nothing that would lend credence to your claims?”

“I…nothing at all,” Elincia said to the dais. _Be humble. Give her the respect fitting her station and do not rile her attitude. Everything hinges on this._ “What little possessions I have are either bought from my travels once Sir Greil lent me his assistance or too common a trinket to link me to the throne. When Daein struck, I fled at once—I had no time to secure any physical proof of my claim.”

Sanaki _hmph_ ed between pursed lips. Some of the senators leered and whispered behind their hands.

“And with both King and Queen killed and the Crown Prince, Renning, also dead, there is no one among the royal family who even knows your face,” Sanaki said. “Tsk, tsk. What am I to do?”

“I will vouch for her.”

Elincia’s head shot up; Ike stepped up beside her, shoulders back and eyes straight like he was scaling up a threat rather than a conversation. He had one hand on the hilt of his sword.

“My lo—Ike!” Elincia whispered.

“I have no doubt that Princess Elincia is Crimea’s true heir,” Ike continued, addressing Sanaki dead in the eye. “My father believed her, and his judgment has never failed me or my company.”

Sanaki propped her head on one hand, leaning to one side of her throne. Ike could have been a puppy performing tricks for all the amusement on her face.

“Gracious, you are a bold one!” she said. “Tell me, what on Tellius gives you such strength of conviction? According to this grand story, this girl here has not engaged with the outside world since the day she was born. So how is it that you, a lowly mercenary, and his motley retinue dare to assert her authenticity?”

Ike’s hand stiffened on the pommel of his sword. Behind them, Elincia could hear Titania’s breath whistle dangerously through her nose and Soren’s fingertips catch against the clasp of his spellbook.

 _Please, friends, be calm!_ Elincia urged. _If I cannot endure this, I cannot hope to endure my own throne! If the Empress, my one hope of massing the forces I need to evict Daein from my land, desires to elongate this process, there is not much I can do but carry on._

“How do I—the Daein army pursues Elincia with bloody-minded determination,” Ike said. His brow furrowed. “At every turn, whether it’s Crimea or even Gallia, they’ve _demanded_ we turn Princess Elincia over to them. There’s no sense in them enabling a charade. What further proof do you need?”

Sanaki sighed theatrically. She crossed her legs at the ankle; her robes flowed off the throne, yet her own feet swung above the ground. One of the senators, a rotund man with filled-out cheeks, chortled into his hand. Sephiran glared at him.

“You know, if someone of… _proper_ standing made that comment, I would accept it as irrefutable proof,” Sanaki said. She gestured at Ike from his travel-worn boots to his rough-hemmed cloak like he was a horse at market. “But you’re just a mercenary. Am I to believe the word of a _commoner_ , one without a surname or proper standing, no documented lineage, with baseless claims and neither coin nor status to back it up, over the words of those with experience and pedigree? You have nothing. I know commoners. For a price, they will support any lie, no matter how outlandish. As far as I know, you and your rabble of a company were merely bought out by this girl here to pretend she is royalty.”

Ike was stone. Elincia almost touched the underside of his bare wrist, just to check he still had a pulse. He just stood there, radiating barely-bridled fury, nostrils flared and mouth set in a hard line. Sanaki snorted.

“Oh, what, now you’ll tell me you’re the son of some noble house? No, of course not. You don’t have the bearing. Ooh, wait! Perhaps you’re a knight? One of those pretentious Crimean Royal Knights, I take it?”

Titania let out a low grumble. Elincia winced.

Ike stepped forward.

“Ike!” Titania whispered.

“I am neither a noble nor a knight,” Ike said. His voice was scarily level—Elincia felt the hair on her arms stand up underneath her sleeves. “I have no connection with any palace whatsoever. And no matter how much gold I stood to gain, I would not betray my convictions. Elincia has paid us, yes—but nothing more than the standard fee to purchase our services as her escort. The Greil Mercenaries do not sway to bribery. We do not sell our swords to a liar.” Ike took a breath, and his words tumbled out sharper and quicker. “We’ve come this far only because we believe Elincia is a woman of integrity—I don’t care how ‘high and mighty’ you might be; I will _not_ stand here and let you mock the bond of trust that ties us to Elincia! Yes, she’s young, but she’s the right age for the King’s heir. _I’m_ young, but I’ve had to step up and lead my company in the wake of my father’s murder. _You’re_ young, too—too young to dangle the futures of those around you like they were playthings!”

Ike’s voice echoed across the chamber. His hand was a fist around his sword hilt. He made no move to draw it.

“My lord Ike!” Elincia gasped.

One of the senators stood abruptly from his chair. His bushy blonde mustache quivered as he glared down at Ike and Elincia.

“How _dare_ you!” he spat. “Who are you to address the Apostle Herself so crudely? Commander Sigrun stands outside, yes? Commander! Arrest this, this _boy_ for his abuse! I cannot allow—”

Sanaki held up a single palm.

The room fell silent.

The only sound Elincia heard was the pounding of her own heart in her ears, the rustle of cloth as Sanaki crossed her ankles the other way, the way Ike forced himself to breathe steadily in and out, in and out, in an effort to tame his temper.

Sanaki smiled. Her eyes crinkled. Her cheeks dimpled.

And she _laughed_.

Her giggles filled the audience chamber, high and pealing like tinny bells on a winter sleigh. The other senators exchanged confused looks. By the time the Apostle regained her composure, Ike’s neck burned red, and Elincia knew her own cheeks bloomed with embarrassment.

Sanaki wiped away a tear from her eye. “Hah! Oh, Sephiran, you were right about him, he is _very_ interesting,” she said, tilting her head back to peer at the senator seated behind her. Sephiran said nothing, though his almond-shaped eyes twinkled with a deep, faraway satisfaction.

“I wanted to ask about that,” Ike growled.

“Sephiran is my Prime Minister,” Sanaki said plainly. “He is my most trusted advisor—hush, Vice Minister Lekain, you know it is true.”

“I apologize belatedly for deceiving you,” Sephiran said, his calm voice so unlike Sanaki’s childlike timbre. “I was sent to ascertain the living condition of our neighboring countries once we heard the rumors that Daein wanted to start a war. While I admit being captured by Daein was not my goal, it did allow me to meet the Princess first hand, as well as her shockingly diverse employ.”

“My dear Commander Sigrun and her Holy Guard have received detailed reports on Princess Elincia and your little mercenary company as well,” Sanaki continued.

“So. You knew we were coming,” Ike said flatly.

“Yes; I do apologize for testing you,” Sanaki said with a lofty sigh. She slouched in her throne. “Life here in the temple is so dreadfully _dull_ , you see. It’s either commune with the Goddess, hear boring cases from people who don’t matter, or sit still for yet _another_ commissioned portrait. Even the parties I attend among the Sainted Circle homes are so bland! But thanks to you, Princess Elincia, and your brazen little escort, this hearing has proved to be an amusing distraction.”

The other senators erupted in belated congratulations, passing off their unsavory moods with the wave of a hand and the turn of a sentence—all save Sephiran, who kept his mouth shut and his eyes unreadable.

“My dear Empress,” said Vice Minister Lekain, “how very like you to play such a cunning game of wit and words!”

“Oh, you _do_ tease us so,” said the man to his left, one with the complexion of stale crackers. “I was on the verge of being completely fooled!”

“What a laugh!”

“Not a bad way to amuse ourselves, I daresay…”

“Princess of Crimea, you have put quite the smile on our beloved Apostle’s face—what an honor!”

“I…yes,” Elincia said. The senators’ laughter rang in her ears and rooted her to the floor. Her own voice sounded so small in comparison, drowning the moment it left her lips.

“Oh, yes, I almost forgot in all the revelry,” Sanaki said when the laughter died down, “Prime Minister Sephiran has already vouched for your identity as the true princess of Crimea. I require no further proof. You may rest easy.”

“I am…most grateful,” Elincia forced out. Her throat felt tight. “Thank you for your benevolence, Empress Sanaki.”

She bowed her head.

Someone moved in her peripheral vision.

“Wait just a damned minute!” Ike spat, crossing in front of her, his cloak a ripple of red.

“Ike!” Soren hissed.

Elincia’s breath caught in her throat. Eyes wide, she looked between Ike’s deeply furrowed brow and Sanaki’s rapidly fading smile. Every senator turned their noses down at him like falcons upon a fieldmouse.

“…Yes?” Sanaki said.

“What is the meaning of this?” Ike said, gesturing at Elincia and then the wide semicircle of senators. “You _knew_ Elincia was the Crimean Princess? And yet you continued to—to _humiliate_ her for your own entertainment? For some stupid game of ‘wits and words’? This isn’t a joke!”

Sanaki’s eyes imperceptively narrowed. She slowly sat up straight.

“Elincia’s homeland is lost to her!” Ike went on. “Her family was murdered by Daein and she is hunted across Tellius so Ashnard can finish the job! Without her family, without her _home_ , and with nowhere else to turn she endures mortal danger and terrible heartbreak to reach your door—and then you…you _laugh_ at her?” Ike took a shuddering breath. “Where is the humor in that? Where is your decency? You—you’re all horrid people, to make light of someone’s painful struggle! You disgust me beyond words! And you owe Elincia a proper apology. I’ll wait.”

Both his hands were taut-knuckled fists when he finished. Ike stood beneath the gaze of Begnion’s elite, his two advisors at his back, almost radiant in the colored light streaming through the window.

Elincia could have kissed him then and there.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and it was all she could do to stand there unspeaking, unmoving, mouth slightly agape at the boy, the friend, the _leader_ defended her honor to a pack of gilded wolves.

Lekain leaned over the desk.

“…Wretched peasant,” he growled. “You loose that treacherous tongue of yours one more time and you shall find it removed—”

“Duke Lekain, restrain yourself,” said Sanaki without looking at him.

“But, Apostle—”

“I am speaking. Still _your_ tongue lest you find it on the opposite end of your own threats.”

Lekain grumbled, but he withdrew to cross his arms and pout in his chair. Sanaki rested her hands upon the throne sides.

“Ike, is it,” she said coolly.

Ike seethed.

“I understand your feelings. Your passion for your employer is a beautiful thing; would that my own fawning vassals shared your conviction and commitment. However, your behavior tests my patience. Raise your voice to me once more and you will severely damage Princess Elincia’s already precarious position. Do you understand?”

“Not really,” Ike said through his teeth. Elincia shivered. “Why don’t you fill me in.”

Elincia heard Titania and Soren make small noises of protest, but she dared not turn around to see their expressions.

“Dear Elincia is at _best_ the heir to a dead country,” Sanaki said. “In half a year, ten months at most, without a challenge for the throne Daein will likely claim Crimea’s territory and annex it. Elincia cannot reclaim Crimea without sufficient backing, otherwise she would have done so already—and I would not have to suffer through this hearing. Without Begnion’s support, Elincia’s claim is meaningless. So, even if we harm her _fragile_ feelings, for the sake of her country’s future, she must stand by and say nothing. She really can do little else but beg.”

 _It’s true,_ Elincia thought with a wince, _but it is no less bitter hearing it spoken aloud. At least I am able to beg on my feet and not upon hands and knees. That must count for something, right, Father? Was this the way you envisioned me finally visiting Begnion?_

“I have much to consider,” Sanaki said, adopting that condescending loft into her tone of voice once more. She slouched, letting her posture sink to one side. “Senators, we shall meet this evening at Duke Hetzel’s residence to discuss this state of affairs.”

“I—of course, Empress,” said Duke Hetzel, stumbling at the sudden invitation. “I shall ensure my home is in prime condition.”

“Good. Make sure those little cheese sandwiches are on the menu, too.”

“It shall be done.”

“As for you lot,” Sanaki said, gesturing at Elincia and the others, “I suggest you rest and relax; I’ve instructed the temple staff to do everything in their ability to make your stay at Mainal Cathedral a pleasant one. No doubt Commander Sigrun has already given you a tour and shown you your sleeping quarters. Crimea’s future will not be unknown for long.” Sanaki smirked. “Perhaps in the interim, you could try your hand at our courtly games of…what was it… wits and words?”

“Yes, thank you, Apostle Sanaki,” Elincia said before anyone else could ruin the brief peace. “We shall enjoy your gracious hospitality, and we look forward to your announcement regarding my station. I bid you and your Senate good afternoon.”

Elincia lowered into a deep curtsy, brushing her bare knees against the cold stone floor. She did not rise until she heard the others awkwardly bow or dip their own manner of respects. Rising, Elincia smoothed her skirts and walked as quickly as she could to the double doors without making it seem like she was fleeing. She was the first one out and met Sigrun’s patient smile with a mask of her own—everything had gone smoothly, no one was about to be hung for rudeness, all of her hopes and future depended on the whims of a ten-year-old girl with the voice of the Goddess in her ear, no big deal!

And yet—

Once the doors thudded shut and Ike dug his hands into his hair to keep from shouting, Elincia’s skin was clammy with sweat.

The patronizing glares of those vile senators burned against her eyelids whenever she blinked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nanowrimo continues............................


	51. Chapter 51

Ike waited until he’d put ten feet between him and the audience chamber doors before he buried his face in his hands and let out a frustrated growl so fierce it made Sigrun blink and excuse herself to attend the Apostle. Ike dug the heels of his hands against his eyes. When he ran out of breath and finally lowered his hands back to his sides, Soren was staring at him with a quirked brow and an expression halfway between bewilderment and sheer amusement.

“Are you done?” he asked.

“I—no, I’m not!” Ike said, starting off down the hall. Soren quickly fell into step beside him, but Titania and Elincia scrambled to catch up. “The nerve of her! Taking advantage of our situation, talking down to us like that…so what if we’re commoners? So what if we don’t have signed paperwork and surnames? That never mattered to Father; he’d take jobs from anyone with integrity and accepted people into the company from all walks of life! Just because we don’t meet the Apostle’s standards, that doesn’t mean she gets to walk over us like we’re dirt!”

“Such is the way of noble court,” said Soren.

Elincia winced.

“Are you alright, Princess?” Titania asked softly.

“I will be fine,” she said.

“Look, I don’t care if she’s the Empress or the Apostle or whatever,” Ike said, “I can’t _stand_ her!”

“Ike, does it occur to you that maybe the Apostle saved your life?” Titania asked.

“No, it doesn’t!”

“Titania is right,” Soren said, shooting her a quick glance. “Begnion is the oldest beorc country on Tellius. I mentioned before that their customs would be much different—and much stricter—than what we’re used to, even as base citizens of Crimea. You insulted the Apostle, the very symbol of Begnion’s sovereignty. Those senators were moments away from ordering your execution—or did you somehow not hear that man Lekain call for your arrest?”

Ike stopped. He put both hands on the back of his neck and pressed against the tension there.

“And, as the Princess’s hired escort, the repercussions of your behavior would fall directly on her,” Soren continued. “If you had truly angered the Apostle, any hope of gaining Begnion’s support and reuniting Elincia with the Crimean throne would have vanished.”

Ike sighed through his nose. He turned around; Elincia quickly brought a hand up to her neckline like she’d been caught reaching for something that wasn’t hers. She blushed.

“I’m sorry, Elincia,” Ike said.

“Ike…”

“Soren’s right—as usual. I wasn’t thinking, and I risked ruining everything we’ve worked for. My own ignorance doesn’t excuse my stupidity. I shouldn’t have let my emotions get so heated. I truly am sorry.”

“No, I…” Elincia smiled. “What you said, you said in my defense and in my honor. In truth, my—Ike, it made me very pleased. Your words filled my heart.”

“It wasn’t as noble as you make it sound,” Ike said, frowning.

“I disagree. You were like a lion roaring at his enemies!”

Ike scoffed. “I’ll be sure to tell King Caineghis about the likeliness, then, next I see him.”

“…He didn’t _formally_ invite us back, did he?” Soren said to Titania.

“No,” Titania replied, “but I’m sure Ike can find a way to see him again, if only to try every meat dish they serve in the palace.”

Soren’s expression withered. Titania reached to put a hand on his back, but Soren ducked away and maneuvered to stand by a window.

Elincia carefully took Ike’s hands and cupped her palms around them. Ike tensed, but the look on her face—earnest and hopeful and eyes brightly fixed on his—kept him still.

“It’s true that I’ve lost my blood family and my home,” Elincia said softly, “but I had people to turn to and rely on—you and _your_ family, Ike, you and Sir Greil and your lovely ever-growing company. For me, this has been a great source of inspiration and happiness through this long journey. Do not discount your own worth.”

Ike shifted his weight from foot to foot. He glanced at Soren out of the corner of his eye, but his friend was perfectly content to study the lawn out the window and make no effort to intervene. Even Titania was looking away like this was some intimate moment between Ike and Elincia.

Ike gently tugged his hands free. Elincia clasped her own fingers together awkwardly.

“The journey isn’t over yet,” Ike said, stepping back to widen the space between them. “The Apostle still needs to work out the type of help she’s willing to give you—and that could take weeks given the attitude of those senators. But I’m glad to hear you’re feeling well.”

“I…yes, Ike,” said Elincia.

Ike ran a hand through his hair. “…I need to clear my head. I’m going for a walk,” he said. “I trust one of you will track me down when it’s time to eat.”

“Of course,” Titania said.

Soren caught his eye and nodded; Ike reciprocated the gesture and then headed for the nearest door outside. He let his feet guide him past hedges and ivy-wrapped lattices, around winding covered walkways and gurgling fountains, through two annexes and across a courtyard inlaid with precious metal. Servants and acolytes heard the pace of his boots against the stone and gave him a wide berth. At one point Ike pivoted toward a large iron gate, beyond which Sienne’s beorc wandered on their way home or to early evening engagements.

He made it six feet to the gate when a guard blocked his path with a gentle arm.

“Guests are to remain within the temple grounds,” she said. “I’m afraid you’ll need signed permission with the Apostle’s seal to enter Sienne.”

“Of course I do,” Ike said. “Apparently everything in this blasted place needs her approval.”

“That…yes, that is the custom here.”

“Great. Fantastic.”

Ike turned away and kept walking.

Halfway down another corridor, he flagged down a young woman in servant’s gray carrying a basket of folded linens.

“You have guards here,” he said. “Is there somewhere they keep their training equipment? Someplace I could go to practice swordsmanship that won’t, I don’t know, offend anyone?”

“They practice on the lawn in the Orchid Wing,” said the girl, blushing. “I can escort you there as soon as I’ve delivered this laundry…?”

“No need—if I have directions I’ll find my way there eventually.”

The girl pouted, but Ike followed her directions without incident, winding up in a small rectangular lawn covered in clover and cornflowers and thick clods of dirt where heels and swords had struck the earth. The guards’ barracks faced one side of the rectangle with a supply shed to its right; Ike dragged a wooden training dummy on a wobbling stand to the center of the lawn and drew his sword.

He slipped into the motions his father taught him as easily as his lungs drew breath. Center stance. Weight forward. Loose joints. The sword is an extension of the body, not merely a tool, and it requires the same awareness as your own heartbeat. Ike attacked the wooden dummy in rhythmic motions, dipping and darting back to dodge invisible strikes, pretending the whorls of wood grain were every imperceptible problem digging under his skin.

Grief. _Father_. Pain. _War_. Anger. _Fear._

By the time Ike’s movements slackened and sweat ran down his back, the sun was beginning to set, and the training dummy was a scratched mess with half its shoulder chopped off.

And Soren was sitting on the grass beneath a magnolia tree across the yard, reading a book.

Ike wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. Soren was perfectly still, and the wavy drape of a mantle buckled around his shoulders made him look like he was carved from conchoidal obsidian. He hummed a small note and flipped a page.

Ike stretched his arms all the way up until his joints popped, walked over near Soren, and pivoted on his heel to fall backward with a sigh onto the grass. One of his hands accidentally bumped against Soren’s knee. Ike spread his arms to either side with an apologetic look at Soren and leaned his head back so the grass blades brushed his cheeks.

“How long were you there?” he asked, having to crane his chin up to see Soren past his own brow.

“About an hour,” Soren replied. “I didn’t wish to interrupt you, so I busied myself with my own form of work.”

“You’re always working,” Ike pointed out, “but I appreciate it. I needed to let off some steam.”

“Anyone would, enduring a hearing such as that.”

“Is that book new?”

“Relatively speaking,” Soren said, turning the cover closed and slipping a leather ribbon inside to mark his place. It was an odd size for a trade book—almost square in dimension—and the edges had been reinforced with metal corners to keep the cover intact. Ike could barely read the faded lettering on its spine. “The library here is, admittedly, very good. I expected Begnion’s capital to have a plethora of archived material, but not to this scale. They have seven floors, Ike! All of it full of published domestic literature, imported texts from beorc nations, and I’m confident there is a basement with additional research papers—possibly requiring special clearance, though I’m certain I can pull enough strings to access it. My research on old aeolian wind magic in Melior was cut short and I would appreciate any opportunity to continue it.”

“That sounds perfect for you, Soren,” Ike said warmly.

His eyes darted to a pair of songbirds flittering across the yard. They wheeled around one another, wings tucked and tailfeathers spread, calling back and forth in sweet melodies. Ike turned his head to watch them, but they soon flew out of sight beyond the temple walls.

Soren tapped his fingers on the book. “The grass might be comfortable for _you_ , Ike, but you did ask for someone to fetch you when it was time to eat. There’s a welcome feast in Princess Elincia’s honor scheduled in ten minutes.”

Soren started to get up, but Ike stayed right where he was, spread flat on his back looking up at the sky. Soren sat back on his knees and prodded Ike in the shoulder.

“Come on,” he said. “You should at least make an appearance.”

“What, and pretend like that whole outburst at the hearing today never happened?” Ike said, gesturing with his hands up at the orange sky. “I should just play the dumb mercenary they see me for?” He brought his arms down across his stomach. “I’m still angry about it. Even with time to think and decompress, it still bothers me. I just can’t understand why a group of people would sacrifice a whole country just to satisfy their own egos. Crimea needs help, and that Senate seemed perfectly willing to sit back and let Elincia beg for it.”

“This may not be a useful answer,” Soren said, “but letting madness rule is the prerogative of nobility. While laguz have their own…unique… power structure, beorc like ourselves are divided into classes. From birth to death we live our lives within the confines of our stations and know never to defy those above us.”

“Well, that’s a stupid rule,” Ike said. “I don’t like the idea that wealth and pedigree means you get to be a jerk to everyone else. It’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, Ike.”

“Maybe someday it can change, though.”

“Maybe.” Soren shrugged. “Wishful thinking, but maybe.”

They fell into comfortable silence, Ike on the grass and Soren sitting patiently beside him. The spires and peaks of Sienne’s tall buildings slashed shadows across the city, leaking into the temple grounds. Ike scratched idly at his chest.

“You and the Princess seem to be getting close,” Soren said, breaking the silence.

Ike glanced up at him. Soren had a cornflower in his hand and was studying the tiny petal structure. After a moment he tossed it onto the grass and picked another.

“What do you mean?” Ike asked.

“Dropped formalities, intimate space, small touches…” Soren raised a single eyebrow. “I know you’re dense when it comes to noticing gestures of interest, but one might think you two were conspiring together as a couple.”

Ike blew a long breath through his lips. “She’s our employer, Soren. And I don’t like her _that_ way. She’s a friend. Nothing more.”

Soren was quiet for a long, long moment.

“Oh,” he said.

“‘Oh’? Now what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Soren stood, tucking his book under one arm. Ike sat up clumsily; Soren helped tug him to his feet. “We ought to find the dining hall. I believe I passed it earlier on my way back from the library.”

“Lead the way,” Ike said. He dragged the soles of his boots on the grass as they left the lawn, hoping to avoid tracking any dirt in his wake. “I don’t suppose the Apostle will make an appearance?”

“I doubt it,” Soren said. He checked both ways under the covered walkway and banked left, looking about like a hound on a trail. “The Apostle departed with Commander Sigrun and Tanith via pegasus about an hour ago. I assume she’s still talking with the Senate about Princess Elincia.”

“Blast the Senate,” Ike grumbled. “How is it that a council intended to represent the people doesn’t even look like them?” He belatedly stepped out of the way of a passing acolyte. “…We’re not secretly surrounded by old men, are we?”

Soren snorted out a dry laugh. “No, I don’t believe we are,” he said, “though that _would_ be a powerful illusion.”

“And another thing—why didn’t Sephiran say anything when we first met? He could have saved us so much grief by telling us who he was in the first place instead of saying he was on a pilgrimage.”

“He didn’t tell us for precisely that reason. His entire mission was discretion and gathering information. Revealing his identity would have squandered his and the Empress’s objectives.”

“Well, it would have spared Elincia that whole mockery.”

Soren sighed lightly and slowed to a stop outside two arched doors with iron handles styled into vines. Ike’s mouth watered at the smell of bread and roasted onions coming from inside.

“Ike, I know you like to shoulder everyone’s burdens,” Soren said softly, “but not even you can stop the cruelty of the world.”

“I can certainly try,” Ike said.

“ _Ike._ You will burn yourself out doing that. There are some truths in this world that you cannot fix.”

_But I_ will _try,_ Ike thought, studying his friend’s face. _I have to. I won’t lose anyone else to my own shortcomings._

Laughter and clattering porcelain seeped through the thick wood doors, and shadows passed through the light underneath the doorway. Kieran’s distinctive timbre cut through the din like a butterknife.

Soren shook his head, muttering something about manners. He braced a palm against the door handle.

Ike caught Soren’s elbow before he could push it open.

“Are you okay, Soren?” he asked quietly. “I know today’s been… _very_ trying, I’m the first to admit that.”

Soren cocked his head, letting some of his silky hair brush his cheeks. A beam of sunlight slanting past the roof shone golden on his face.

“I’m perfectly fine, Ike,” he said.

And he smiled—that rare, fleeting little twitch of the lips that smoothed all the stress lines on his brow, that soft glimpse of emotion that made Ike temporarily forget to breathe.

Ike reflexively smiled back.

“Alright,” he said, “just checking. It’s been a long…I was going to say ‘few months’, but ‘year’ is more accurate. And it’s only late summer.”

“Roughly two weeks until the popular start of fall,” Soren said, slipping into a measured tone of voice, “though the precise date of the autumnal equinox is not for another five weeks… given the prevalence of high humidity and general wind patterns this far south, it’s likely temperatures will remain balmy for at least three more weeks. Though if the wind spirits bring thunderstorms I’ll be able to hear them well in advance.”

“If you two are going to _stand_ there,” Mist said, walking up with her hands on her hips, “the least you can do is not block the way! Some of us are actually hungry!”

Ike turned around and ruffled his sister’s hair before she could duck away. Mist looked like she’d taken advantage of the long afternoon to actually rest and relax; she’d scrubbed the last bit of travel grit from under her fingernails and thrown on a new tunic and long skirt that must belong to the temple.

“Who’s to say I’m not?” Ike countered. “According to you, I’m always hungry!”

“That’s because you eat up _all_ the food that Oscar and I make! Then there’s never any leftovers!”

“I believe that’s simply being pragmatic,” Soren said.

“Oh, hush,” Mist said, shooting him a playful frown. Soren rolled his eyes. Mist grabbed Ike’s wrist and tugged him a few steps out from the door so she could angle herself in front of him. “If there aren’t any hand pies left, I’m blaming you two!”

Soren snorted; Ike nudged him in the shoulder and held the door open for the two of them, following behind and trying not to let the door boom shut.

Ike took in the conversations and the wave of weary relief that shone on every face in his company. He sat among his family and listened to their stories—Mia tripping up a maid, Lethe eating a bird off the balcony, Ilyana taste-testing the entire menu beforehand—and, for at least a little while, forgot all about the machinations of Begnion’s elite.


	52. Chapter 52

The first day in Sienne, Mist slept until noon and ran around the temple grounds until she got so lost she needed an escort back to her room.

The second day, she ate every dish at every meal and only threw up once.

But by the third day, the novelty was wearing off.

Gray stone. Blue stone. Perfect tree. Perfect bush. Statue of a lady. Statue of a general. Same outfits, same faces, hello, good day, yes it’s quite lovely here, yes I miss Crimea, yes the princess is perfectly capable of running a country, why would you say she isn’t, please stop talking to me, good _day_.

Mist shook out the wet half-cape in her hands with a _snap_ and looped it over the clothesline. Bright morning sunlight lit the small enclosed yard and made dewdrops sparkle on the grass. Wispy cirrus clouds streaked the sky like someone had taken a broom and swept white paint over a blue canvas. Already the air felt thick to breathe.

Mist stepped back after securing the cloth with a few wooden pins, running a wet hand through her twin ponytails.

_And I thought I wouldn’t have to deal with frizz once we were out of the ocean,_ she thought, smoothing down her hair as best she could. _Turns out it’s even_ worse _here without a regular breeze!_

She hummed and walked underneath the first clothesline, shivering as water dripped onto her shoulders and neck. Boyd was sitting on a small stone bench straddling a washboard and a basin full of water between his knees. He’d rolled his sleeves up past his elbows, yet he’d managed to get water all over his chest and calves, plastering them to his skin. Mist stopped just shy of the growing puddle of mud around his feet.

“Boyd,” she said, “do you think if I asked nicely, Soren would make the wind come through the temple yards so it isn’t so suffocating out here?”

Boyd’s hand slipped on the washboard, dunking his whole arm into the filmy water. He grimaced, shifted his legs, and looked up at her with his thick eyebrows knotted together in a line.

“That kid won’t do anything Ike doesn’t sign off on,” he said.

“You’re the same _age_ , Boyd.”

“So?”

“ _So_ , if he hears you call him a kid, Soren’s gonna turn all your shirts inside out in your sleep,” Mist said matter-of-factly.

“What?” Boyd finally fished out the cloth he’d dropped in the basin and spread it over the washboard, digging in with his knuckles to knead the last of the water out. “No way. He wouldn’t.”

Mist shrugged. She took the shirt he handed her and walked over to hang it on the line.

“Mist, he _wouldn’t_ , right?”

“Who knows?”

“Argh, you’re just as bad,” Boyd grumbled. He took another dirty shirt from the wicker basket beside him and grimaced at the sweat stains on it. He plunged it into the basin and spilled water over the sides. “This is taking forever! Why did _I_ get stuck with the _girls’_ chores?”

Mist glared at him. She wrung the shirt in her hands and flung water at Boyd’s face. He yelped.

“They’re not _girls’_ chores,” Mist said crossly. “It’s just _laundry_. Anyone of any gender can wash a shirt. And if you call them that again, I’ll tell on you to Ike.”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Boyd relented. “I still don’t see why _I’m_ stuck with them. I thought Soren wasn’t micromanaging the company schedule anymore now that we’re off that blasted boat.”

“He’s not,” Mist said, “but since _you_ were the last one to the breakfast meeting this morning, you got laundry duty. Wake up earlier next time and you won’t get _stuck_ with me.”

“Mist, that’s not what I…you know what, nevermind,” Boyd said, burying the rest of his words into an unintelligible mumble. He scrubbed the shirt in his hands against the washboard until his knuckles were red.

“Good mornin’, you two! Lovely day, ain’t it?”

Mist peeked around the shirt she’d hung and grinned at their older friend. Brom was one of the nicest people Ike had recruited, and despite his bumbling and occasional clumsiness, the fatherly man never failed to make Mist smile. He balanced a basket full of leather armor pads and belts against his beer drum of a belly like he was hugging one of his own children.

“Hey, if it isn’t the ol’ pops himself!” Boyd hailed. “Show us what you’re made of! Twenty pushups!”

“Right now?” Brom said. “I…phew, all right…”

He set down his basket and carefully arranged his elbows and knees on the grass, puffing in and out with each pushup and quickly going red in the face. His elbows wobbled.

“Boyd, quit being mean to Brom,” Mist chided.

“I’m not being mean—he asked me to train him!” Boyd said.

Mist quirked an eyebrow at him. “Really,” she said.

“It’s true! Tell her, pops!”

“Boyd is… _whoo_ … a real great… _criminy…_ workout coach,” Brom wheezed. He faceplanted into the grass and came up with a few specks of dirt on his mouth. Nevertheless, when he grinned up at Mist he was all dimples and sunshine. “Been workin’ these ol’ muscles through their paces! Just ‘cause I ain’t workin’ on the farm right now don’t mean I can let ‘em slack!”

“Right, what he said!” Boyd crowed. “I’ve been training Brom here for a couple months now, ever since we sailed from Toha and had nothing else to really do. Old geezer has a knack for axework just like yours truly!”

“Huh,” Mist said. She set down her clothespins and put a hand on her hip. “So you have time to train Brom, but my brother says that you sneak out before the end of your _own_ training, is that it?”

“What? He said that?”

“Mm-hmm. He also said that if you keep slacking off, he’s gonna assign you to—my scarf!”

“Your _scarf?_ ”

A sudden gust of humid wind swept through the yard, tugging on every hanging cloth upon the line and rattling the clothespins. Mist watched with growing horror as her favorite scarf snapped free of its wooden pins and soared across the lawn like a bird in flight.

She sprinted over the grass in pursuit. The bronze medallion in her breeches pocket dug into her thigh as she ran, eyes upturned, feet pounding, legs propelling her without looking—

Her ankle twisted on the dewy grass. Mist shrieked as the rooftops suddenly spun to the side.

A warm, broad hand caught her back before she fell and carefully lifted her onto her feet.

“You are unhurt?” growled a warm, deep voice.

Mist let out a tiny peep. Mordecai, his beorcian face creased with concern, was standing at her side—but at the noise she made he quickly lowered his hairy arm and stepped back. His long pale blue tail swished nervously across the threshold of the stone walkway behind him.

“Not wise to run without looking,” he said. “Kits prone to trip and hurt their paws.”

“I—yeah,” Mist stammered.

Mordecai dressed plainly—blue shirt, tan breeches, rope belt with silver grommets—but he fidgeted at every queer look the Begnion beorc gave him, like he was wearing a garish costume instead of everyday workclothes. He purred low in his throat.

“Mordecai is sorry to frighten you,” he said.

“Mm!” Mist said.

“Your cloth,” Mordecai said, holding out his other hand. “Something you lost?”

“I—yes.”

Mist shakily took the scarf back. Mordecai’s fingers were thick as tubers, and his nails—white like a normal beorc at the quick, but dark and sharper the further they grew. He’d curled his fingertips in towards his palm to keep the claws more or less sheathed.

Mist opened her mouth to speak again, but nothing came out. Mordecai tilted his head.

“Uh, thank you,” Mist mumbled.

Mordecai bowed his head. His rounded tiger’s ears swiveled against his skull, catching sounds Mist could barely parse, and when he straightened he walked off to help a small squirrel reach the gutters above the walkway, out of the way of passersby.

Mist edged her way back to the clotheslines, where Brom and Boyd were heartily sharing the wash basin and chatting away like this was a normal weekday for them. She wrung her scarf through her fingers and pinned it with five wooden pins this time to make sure it wouldn’t fly away.

“I did my half of the laundry,” she told Boyd and Brom, “so I’m going to practice healing with Rhys.”

“Sure, sure, knock yourself out,” Boyd said, ignoring her.

“Have fun!” Brom said.

Mist stuck her hands in her pockets and made her way along Mainal Cathedral’s winding walkways.

_What is wrong with me?_ she thought, kicking a pebble along a stretch of polished bluestone. An acolyte frowned at her as he passed. Mist stuck her tongue out at him once his back was turned, and then kept walking, taking the long way to Rhys’s temporary healing quarters just to avoid being inside. _How am I supposed to make friends with the laguz we know if I keep putting my foot in my mouth like that? It’s just so awkward! But maybe that’s because I’m_ making _it awkward? Argh, why can’t I be like Ike, he’s always so casual with everyone…_

_A bit_ too _casual,_ Mist thought with a snort, remembering what Titania had told her about the hearing with the Begnion Senate three days ago. _I love my brother, but he seriously needs to work on his manners sometimes…_

She knocked on a ground-floor door framed by two potted chrysanthemums. Rhys greeted her, dressed in his clean white robes and pale blue accents, pressed clean and fresh as hepatica in spring.

“Mist!” he said. “You’re a bit early; I’m afraid I haven’t finished clearing the space from this morning’s projects.”

“That’s okay!” Mist replied. “I can help put stuff away for you.”

Rhys stepped aside to let her in. Mainal Cathedral was big enough to boast three separate healer’s wards, and Rhys was able to take the currently empty Rose Wing rooms as both a study and a place to rest his head. Mist could see his personal room through a doorway in the back—sheets folded, everything orderly and clean-pressed—and quietly shut the door so as not to intrude. The air was cool and smelled like dried herbs, and Rhys kept the door outside open to let in a bit of fresh air. Thick stone walls would have made any other place seem like a dungeon, but with herbs hanging from the ceiling and gauzy daylight coming in through the doorway, the healer’s ward was like a shaded glen that dispelled worry at the door.

Rhys had left three open books and a pile of herbs and tinctures on one of the long countertops. Mist swept broken plant fragments into her palm and dusted them into a pan while Rhys polished his brass staves and replaced them on hooks along the wall.

Not five minutes had passed before someone knocked sharply on the open door.

“Come in?” Rhys said.

Mist was lifting a heavy mortar and pestle onto a shelf and nearly dropped it seeing Soren enter. He wasn’t bleeding—that was always the first check—and he didn’t _look_ under the weather, insofar as he usually did, at least. He’d been bearing creases under his eyes ever since the spring; at this point, Mist was certain she and everyone else thought of them as a permanent feature.

“Oh, Soren!” Rhys said pleasantly. “What can I do for you?”

Soren glanced at Mist out of the corner of his eye.

“I was hoping to speak in confidentiality,” he said lowly to Rhys.

“Mist is training to be a healer,” Rhys said, “but if you prefer, I can send her outside…?”

“It’s fine. I do not even _want_ to be here, but I need to eliminate all obvious points of logic.”

Mist hopped up onto the counter and swung her legs back and forth, regarding him.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone whatever it is you’re here for,” she said cheerily. “Even if you have a gross wart on your toe, I won’t tell my brother.”

Soren scowled at her. “That’s disgusting.”

“Right, which is why I won’t tell my brother!”

Soren rolled his eyes so hard his entire head lolled with the motion. Rhys quickly stepped in.

“Are you feeling sick?” he asked. “What are your symptoms? How long ago did they start?”

“It’s—it isn’t _consistent_ ,” Soren admitted, fingers twitching as if he could sort out a theoretical problem just by tugging on its invisible pieces. “I only notice it in cramped quarters without ventilation, generally around Ike, and it’s like I…feel feverish. Flustered.”

Mist almost burst out laughing. _Soren? Getting_ flustered _? That’s almost as funny as the time Boyd ate a whole watermelon in one sitting!_

“My current theory is I caught some sort of virus on the ship, because Ike seems hale as usual and I’ve noticed no other inconveniences, but you know what, this is stupid after all. I’m leaving.”

Soren turned about-face, but Rhys quietly stepped up next to him.

“May I?” he asked.

Soren warily looked between Rhys’s hand and eyes, but he carefully nodded. Rhys rested his fingers flat against Soren’s forehead. After a few moments he withdrew, and Soren immediately stepped back against the wall.

“The good news is you don’t have a fever,” Rhys said, offering a shy smile which Soren did not return. “And if you or Ike lack any other ongoing symptoms, then that means it’s not a serious illness. It’s likely stress. My advice is to lessen your workload and take breaks more often; we have to wait for the Apostle and Princess Elincia to reach negotiations, after all, so there’s no time like the present!”

Soren snorted.

“If you find yourself still experiencing some discomfort—or other signs of stress, like lack of sleep or irritability,” Rhys said, “I can make you a tea with valerian and chamomile to help.”

“Noted,” Soren said curtly. He glanced once at Mist as if reminding her not to speak a word of this and then escaped through the open door.

Once Soren’s swift steps faded down the hall, Rhys shook his head and sighed ruefully.

“‘Irritability’?” Mist repeated. “Soren is _always_ irritable. You might’ve wanted to pick a better indicator, Rhys.”

“I worry about him sometimes,” Rhys said. “He’s only five years younger than me but seems jaded enough for anyone past their prime.”

“I think he’s just stubborn,” Mist said. She hopped down from the counter and picked up the last bowl of dried herbs. “Even when we were younger, he never liked to talk to people much, especially if something bothered him. My brother’s just about the only person he likes to be around. They used to stay up late whispering _all the time_ back home.”

“I never knew Ike to be a gossip,” Rhys said.

“Only around Soren. And it’s not so much ‘gossip’ as it is boring stuff like ‘how are you today?’ ‘do you want to help make dinner tonight?’ ‘what book are you reading?’ ‘can I borrow it when you’re done?’”

Rhys laughed. “That just sounds like normal conversation between good friends,” he said. “Titania and I often discuss literature in between duties and jobs.”

“Really?” Mist asked.

“We—well, we used to,” Rhys said, a sudden sadness gracing his soft face. “Before everything this spring. I wonder if we’ll have time to resume our little book club now that we have the time. Though I don’t suppose it’ll last; we’ve no idea how quickly we need to be ready to move. I only wish there was more I could do to help Ike and the Princess.”

Mist set down the bowl of herbs on a shelf and put her arms around Rhys. After a moment he returned the hug, and she stood there breathing in his clean cotton-and-marjoram scent until he quietly released her.

“Thank you,” Rhys said.

“We’ll be okay,” Mist replied. “Brother knows what he’s doing—well, most of the time, at least. And even if he doesn’t, he’s got Soren and Titania there to help him. You should take your own advice and give yourself a break, Rhys. You’re helping us out every day!” Mist’s face lit up like the sun. “I know! Come flower-picking with me! I got permission from the temple staff provided I ‘don’t take them all from one bush’, even though there’s _tons_ of bushes.”

Rhys laughed gaily behind a hand, though he couldn’t hide the dimples on his cheeks when he smiled. He patted Mist on the shoulder and moved past her to finish tidying.

“We can continue our lessons in medicinal herbs,” he said. “The temple garden allows visitors without the Apostle’s permission, thankfully.”

“Only if you promise not to stress yourself out,” Mist said. “The last thing we need is our only healer making himself sick again.”

“I’m not the only healer in the company anymore,” Rhys pointed out. “And I have to say, Mist, you are the best pupil I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching.”

Mist blushed. “That’s because _you’re_ the best teacher,” she said.

Rhys laughed again. “Come along,” he said, pausing to take a book and a flower press on his way out. “We can see if the sage and rosemary are ready to harvest.”

“After that, can you show me more about healing staves?”

“Absolutely. Bring one along and we’ll have our lesson outdoors.”

Mist grabbed one of the brass staves off the wall, hefting its cool weight in her hands as she trotted after Rhys.

_I’m going to be just as good as Rhys someday,_ she thought, _and then I’ll be able to keep everyone safe._ _Brother won’t ever have to worry about me again._

Mist caught her own earnest reflection in the glass dome atop one end of the staff; she winked at herself and held her head just a little bit higher, relishing the fresh air and late summer sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> migraine knocked me out for a few days but nanowrimo stops for no one


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flowers

Ike tugged his cape higher on his shoulders as he walked along the upper level of the temple’s central wing. His blue-and-gold tunic felt stiff against his chest as he walked—even though he’d finally gotten a replacement for his old favorite shirt, when he’d found the new clothes folded on the bed in his quarters, he’d half a mind to keep wearing the travel-worn shirts he’d accumulated since leaving Gallia. The fabric was leagues nicer than anything his father or Titania would find at market down in the local village. Even the color spoke of status—a rich, almost midnight blue instead of the slightly washed-out cobalt he was used to, trimmed with real gold thread instead of simply gold-dyed.

“It’s not that bad,” Titania had said over lunch when the clothes had arrived. “Mist has adored trying on all the new cuts and fabrics.”

“That’s because Mist loves to dress up,” Ike had said.

“That she does,” Titania replied. “But it wouldn’t hurt to dress a bit finer while we’re staying under the Apostle’s own roof. I know it’s uncomfortable, but Princess Elincia is counting on our support. The Senate is quick to discount commoners. Dressing slightly nicer than they expect may sway their opinion.”

“Titania has a point,” Soren had said, looking up from a library book he’d smuggled to the dining table. “It’s difficult to take one seriously if they don’t look the part they apply for. We may be common mercenaries, but it would benefit us to play along and pretend we make more money than we do. And that means having our commander suffer in thread-of-gold trim.”

“But I look fine like this!” Ike insisted. He tugged on the front of his worn brown shirt.

Soren had looked down at an obvious rip on Ike’s collar and back to him, raising a single eyebrow. Ike sighed.

And he’d relented.

And now he felt like he was wearing frills fit for a ball, not day-to-day work.

 _Just because I’m in a fancy place doesn’t mean I have to follow_ all _their rules,_ he thought, standing aside to let two acolytes pass him in the corridor. _I’m not meant to wear finery that costs half a week’s worth of meals. It doesn’t sit right. I don’t like wearing it, and I’ll be the first to cheer when this whole business is over with._

He slowed by a window overlooking a patio and its bubbling fountain. Mainal Cathedral’s stone foundation kept its interior blessedly cool against the late summer heat; even with windows propped ajar by ancient iron rods that creaked in the wind, the temperature inside was never stifling.

 _It’s just stifling here in a different way,_ Ike thought as he followed a staircase down to the main floor. Two girls in the acolyte’s teal-and-gray dress bowed to him as he passed. Ike nodded stiffly at them and hurried away. _Social rules and hidden mistakes…I’d rather face an enemy with sword in hand than with words alone._

Ike turned a corner and nearly smacked into Nasir coming from the opposite direction.

“Preoccupied?” Nasir asked.

“I—yeah, sorry,” Ike said, stepping back. “Just thinking.”

“Well, don’t let me delay you. I’m on my way out, as it were.”

“Is everything alright?” Ike asked. “I meant to see how you were doing, but…and I mean no disrespect, but I kind of forgot you were still with us.”

“I tend to make myself unnoticeable when needed,” Nasir said smoothly. “That said, I’ve had to arrange many affairs regarding my boat docked in Cellay, and the bureaucracy has kept me busy for several days. I would like to continue traveling with you and yours for the time being, and I cannot effectively do so while worrying about my belongings and property.”

“We’d love to have you,” Ike said. “You’re a knowledgeable fellow, and I believe Princess Elincia has a soft spot for your afternoon tea times.”

“Would that we had the opportunity now,” Nasir said, hiding a wince. “I take it she’s preoccupied with matters of state?”

“Has been since we got here.”

“Alas. Well, I can only hope that means good news overall.”

“Me, too,” Ike said. “The Apostle drives me insane, but we’re here for Elincia, so we have to push on even when we want to tear our hair out. All these new customs and rules…they’re confusing and far too pedantic for my taste. It’s been four days and I still haven’t had time to meet with everyone and make sure they’re staying sane.”

Nasir smirked. “I shall leave you to your rounds, then,” he said. “I myself will be in Cellay for at least the next week. Do send a message if Princess Elincia’s situation changes.”

“Sure,” Ike said. _Given how long it takes for anyone to make a decision here, that might be a long while coming…_

Nasir inclined his head politely and started to leave, but he paused half-turned around.

“Ah, before I go—you may want to check on Lethe and Jill,” he said. “I passed them in the north-leading hallway on my here. They were only talking, but their two personalities seem rather…abrasive in tandem.”

“I’ll swing by, thanks,” Ike said. Once Nasir left, Ike made sure the hallway was clear enough of people in his way and then set off, trying to keep track of every connecting corridor and winding stairwell.

 _North-leading hall…this place really needs a map on every corner,_ Ike thought, retracing his steps after overshooting yet another intersection of carpet runners and stained glass. Servants passed with their heads bowed as if afraid to even look at him the wrong way. Ike grimaced.

The moment his ears caught the sound of heated voices he doubled his stride, brow set low, rounding a bend in the hallway just as Lethe slapped Jill’s hand away and left a thin trail of blood on her hand.

“Ow!” Jill exclaimed. “The hell was that for?”

“For your ignorance and blatant lies!” Lethe spat, curling her fingertips to show off her sharp nails. “How _dare_ you call me that name, to put me beneath you like only humans reserve the right to call themselves whole. You call me enemy? _All_ humans are enemy of the laguz! You bury your shame and refuse to teach your kits the truth of history!”

“That’s not _my_ fault!”

“No, it is the fault of your parents and those before you!”

Jill’s hands clenched into fists. “Don’t you _ever_ insult my father,” she menaced.

“Hey— _hey!_ Knock it off!” Ike scolded. He stepped between them and spread his arms to force Lethe and Jill apart. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I just wanted to ask her a simple question!” Jill said. “And then _she_ overreacted!”

“What did you ask Lethe?” Ike said.

“…Why sub—why laguz hate humans so much,” Jill mumbled.

Ike ran a hand over his face. “Well, no wonder you made her upset.”

“I don’t like the way the beorc here look at me,” Lethe growled. Her tawny tail was puffed twice its size and lashing, and her feline ears were pinned against the sides of her skull. “Me _and_ Mordecai. Half of them sneer in disgust, and half look us over like fine meat at a market stall.”

“Sounds like half of them are right,” Jill said under her breath.

“Oh?” Lethe spat. “And which would that be, Daein girl? Hatred or appraisal?”

“ _Enough!”_ Ike shouted. “Cool down, both of you! Everybody is tired of waiting around, but that doesn’t mean you take your frustrations out on each other! Either talk to one another like civilized people or never speak a word to one another again. I don’t particularly care which.

“Frankly, I’m surprised _you’re_ still here,” he added, nodding his chin at Jill. “I would have thought you and your wyvern would be halfway back to Daein by now.”

“I…” Jill bit her lip. “I cannot report a failure of this magnitude to Commander Haar. It’s one thing to disobey orders for a personal task, but it’s another to do that and come back without a prize. It’s like gambling a whole coinpurse and losing it to a single hand.”

“Have you sent any messages to your superiors since landing in Begnion?”

“No.”

“Any intention of kidnapping Princess Elincia out from under our noses?”

“No!”

“So you’re just going to shadow us,” Ike said, “part of neither Daein’s army nor the Greil Mercenaries, until you pick one side or the other.”

“I—yes, but not quite so bluntly.”

Ike rubbed the bridge of his nose and _sighed_.

“I’m giving you until the end of the week to make a decision, then,” he said to Jill. “Either you abandon your dumb mission and throw your lot in with us, or you cut your losses and turn tail back to Daein. No more of this hanging about antagonizing my company and making laguz feel uncomfortable.”

“Hey, _I’m_ not the one giving them weird looks!” Jill said.

“Not quite so _obviously_ , anyway,” Lethe growled. Jill glared at her.

“Lethe, go cool off,” Ike ordered. “You wanted to teach me laguz fighting skills sometime, right? Now’s as good a time as any. Warm up with Mordecai or Zihark and then come find me.”

Lethe made a low grumble in her throat, tail still twitching side to side, but she turned and walked away. A door slammed down the hall.

“You use lances, right?” Ike asked Jill. She nodded. “Find Oscar. He’s the taller guy with green hair, Boyd and Rolf’s older brother. Tell him I sent you.”

“Really?” Jill said.

“If you want to be part of this company by choice, you should know how seriously we take our training. I’m not going to force you either way—and I still don’t know if I can trust you, especially after that spat with Lethe—but if you’re going to hang around with us you need to pull your weight, not hitch a ride on our boat and avoid getting in the way.”

Jill huffed. She gave Ike a stiff-jointed salute and marched past him, out of sight and through the door before he could tell her anything else. Ike shook his head.

Two hours and several bruises later, Ike strolled through the covered walkways along the Orchid Wing, grimacing at the state of his shirt. The blue and gold were covered in grass stains that made the cloth look teal under the right lighting.

The physical exercise had managed to clear his head, at least. He and Lethe had stopped for food just once at Mordecai’s insistence, but then they were back at their match, dodging and feinting and trying to grapple bare-handed on the grass. The temple guards in the barracks had taken one look at them and postponed their own training until the yard was clear.

 _Lethe wasn’t kidding,_ Ike thought, rubbing at the scratch marks along both his arms. _Laguz fight with claws out. I don’t want to bother Rhys with salve for these; I can just use some of the stuff for my scar._

Without realizing, one of his hands drifted to his left shoulder. Ike could feel the puckered scar tissue even through the rich cloth.

He stopped, took a moment to breathe, and kept walking.

 _The Black Knight is out there. Father’s killer is wandering Tellius with a silver sword that can cleave stone in two and armor imbued with spirits’ protection. I’d be a fool to think he stayed in Toha—if he saw Nasir’s flag, he knows we’re in Begnion. I might be safe within these walls, but I’m never going to find him, never going to_ face _him and get revenge for Father’s death if I’m stuck inside like a collared dog._

He stopped again, closed his eyes, and _breathed_.

 _Focus, Ike,_ he thought to himself. _Remember what Soren told you. That man is out of your league. Get stronger. Don’t make the same mistake twice._

“Oh! Um, Commander Ike?”

Ike looked up. Astrid, long hair pulled to one side in a braid, wavered on the steps leading to a nearby garden. She had the look of someone on the verge of a question—lips parted, brow slightly knit—but she held her breath and waited for Ike to respond first.

“Uh, hey,” Ike said.

“Are you out clearing your head as well?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I was training with Lethe and now I’m back on my rounds. You know, walking around and thinking about things. Begnion is so…odd. I don’t understand this country at all.”

“Mm, I can understand that,” said Astrid. “I served as a knight here for many years, but I’ve grown tired of its management. Everything in Begnion is so wrapped up in form and tradition. It feels like the nation has lost track of more important things—things I wish would change. But I could only do so much as a knight, and even less within House Damiell.”

“That’s right, you’re from one of the fancier noble houses,” Ike said. “What made you decide to become a knight, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Ah, I wanted to get away from another type of control, so to speak.” Astrid smiled wanly, reaching a hand up to fiddle with the end of her braided hair. “My parents have ideas about what my life should be but fail to listen to what _I_ want. Women in highborn houses like mine tend to be used as political pawns, you see. I would not allow myself to be married off like a bartering tool just to keep my family’s ambitions aloft.”

“I should hope not,” Ike said, feeling a twitch of anger. “Your life deserves to be your own.”

“It warms my heart to hear you say that. It isn’t easy being here in Sienne. Truth be told, I may be a knight, but my hands still shake at the thought of insurmountable battle.” Astrid laughed and looked down at her own palms.

Ike shifted his weight to his other leg. The walkways were relatively deserted—the garden out here with its private tables and decorative trees exuded a sense of quiet, like merely walking too loud was a Goddess-scorned sin.

“Was there something else you wanted?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” Astrid said. “I was having tea with some friends in the garden, but I did want to ask you…Commander Ike, everyone in your company says you never give up, no matter how bleak the fight. That is true strength to me. Not strength of the arm, but strength of the heart. Please, allow me to join your ranks. I will grow stronger by your example.”

“I actually was going to ask you the same thing,” Ike said. “Your skill with the bow is spectacular, Astrid—you’re more than welcome in the company. Plus, Gatrie’s an old friend of ours. He said he was contracted to be your bodyguard, but if you want to join our mercenary group, he’s free to return without any strings attached.”

“Oh, thank you!” Astrid said, beaming ear to ear. “Thank you very much!”

“You might want to return to your friends, though,” Ike said, gesturing over Astrid’s shoulder at one of the garden tables. Two women were leaning their heads together, whispering behind their hands, but at Ike’s gesture they both laughed and hid their faces. “I don’t think they’ll want to be kept waiting.”

“No, they won’t,” Astrid said, still smiling. “They’re some of my last friends who still live in the area. I’ll have to swear them to secrecy so my parents don’t find out!”

“Good luck,” Ike said.

When Astrid was far enough away, Ike continued on his walk, passing around one side of the garden and starting down the long perimeter towards an adjoining wing. He made it to the far corner when he noticed someone standing in the shadow of the overhanging roof.

“…Gatrie?” Ike asked.

Gatrie started; he’d been propped against the wall looking at something in the garden but stood up straight, masking his surprise with a gallant smile. A fresh lily was tucked into his shirt collar.

“Hey, Ike! I saw you were talking with Astrid, eh?” he said.

“Yeah, I wanted to confirm her situation and if she was okay with having you join back up with us. Apparently she wants in, too. I’m glad to have another archer around. Maybe Rolf can start taking lessons from her if she has the spare time.”

“Ah, I knew she had a good head on those shoulders,” Gatrie said fondly. “And a gorgeous head at that. She’s quite the beauty…those warm eyes…that silky hair…that skill with the bow…I daresay she may be the one!”

Ike furrowed his brow. “The one what?”

“You know, the—ah, nevermind,” Gatrie said, waving it off. “Anywho. Beautiful day for a walk!”

“That it is. If I stay in those horrible, gaudy rooms for too long, I start to feel antsy,” Ike said. “Every furnishing is so clean and precise, I’m afraid I’ll mar it simply by looking at it wrong. It’s ridiculous! Is that why you’re out here, too?”

“No, I’m here for different reasons,” Gatrie said with a wistful sigh. He leaned back against the temple wall, crossing his ankles in front of him. “Just…admiring the flowers.”

Ike leaned over the low stone wall that framed the garden. Thick green bushes with bleeding-heart flowers curled safely in the shade under the masonry, but bright orange daylilies and red-violet amaranth spread out towards the sun, joining with patches of cosmos into a spiral pattern throughout the garden.

“Yeah, they’re awfully pretty this time of year,” Ike said. “Mist always liked the crocuses around the old fort, but Soren and I would go out to the fields for sunflowers and then toast the seeds over a fire after.”

“Mm-hmm,” Gatrie said distractedly. “Lovely.”

“Which ones do you like, Gatrie? Lilies?”

“Which—?”

Gatrie looked at him then, head tilted with the same expression Soren had whenever someone didn’t understand a rudimentary concept. It was uncanny seeing that expression on anyone else.

“No, not those flowers, Ike,” said Gatrie. “ _Those_ flowers!”

He clapped a broad hand on Ike’s shoulder and brought him in shoulder to shoulder, pointing with his free hand out into the garden. Dwarf willows trailed their long wispy branches along the grass; the flower heads bobbed with the motion of honeybees; Astrid and her two friends were finishing tea at one of the tables amid the plants.

“…Gatrie, there’s nothing here but the garden plants and Astrid’s friends.”

“Exactly! It’s like a whole new breed of girl lives in Begnion! Every lady in this temple is drop-dead gorgeous!”

Gatrie slapped Ike’s shoulder and released him so he could stand a bit closer to the garden wall. Ike stood back.

_Wait._

Ike looked between Gatrie and the women gossiping with Astrid. Gatrie’s face was slack as a man doped on alcohol.

Ike gave him a flat look, closed his eyes, and walked away.

“Yeah…Ike? Hey, where’re you going?” Gatrie called after him. Ike heard him scoff and say “Ah, he’s just a boy, still,” before he was well and truly out of earshot.

Ike rubbed his palms against his ears as if he could scrub that bit of knowledge from his brain.

 _Well, thanks for that, Gatrie,_ he thought, letting his feet steer him around the corner and out to some other part of the temple. _Now I won’t be able to talk about actual flowers without worrying that I’m secretly offending someone._

Shaking his head, Ike wandered through the covered walkways and was outside the library before he knew it. Even with all of Begnion’s trappings and all its rules and stipulations, there was always one person that could see through it and tether Ike to reality.

 _I just hope I’m not interrupting him,_ Ike thought as he entered the atrium, letting the smell of musty books and paper fill his lungs and bring a soft smile to his lips. He made his way as quietly as he could around the circulation desk and up a long, winding staircase, looking for a familiar drape of black hair and three ponytail clasps among the books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -consults spreadsheet support matrix- astonishingly, despite all these words, only a few canon support convos are actually established rn and most are only C level?? wild.
> 
> nanowrimo continues?? sorry for spamming y'all's emails with these frequent updates bc theres another chapter coming in like 24 hours 😬


	54. Chapter 54

_‘Aeolian mages must bargain with the oft-overlooked wind spirits, those common, gently flowing wisps ever-present in daily life. Wind is the easiest to tame and the least powerful elemental spirit, though in capable hands and with ample training one can command blizzards and scathing windstorms to bend to one’s will. Pyrian mages tame the fiercest fires and bargain with flame spirits, and while they may display the showiest magic, they require vicious control to prevent burning their own flesh to cinders. Lastly, Thunrian magic, hailed as the least accurate and most difficult to master, relies on the temperamental thunder spirits. These rare elementals congregate in areas struck by…’_

Soren sat back and rubbed his eyes. Half of this book was common knowledge—or, if not common, at least information he knew already—and the other half simply repeated the same information in a fancier, denser way. He shut the book with a low sigh and shoved it across the table he’d commandeered to join its peers. Four volumes bound in various shades of leather were stacked against the windowsill, already scoured through and awaiting some poor librarian to re-shelve them.

_I’ll have to keep looking,_ Soren thought, taking a moment to stretch his head and neck over the back of his chair. He winced at the audible crack his stiff joints made. _The entire sixth floor is dedicated to magical study and dissertations—five books alone will not yield me the information I want._

The arched window Soren sat in front of spanned the length of the table and tinted the temple’s central courtyard below in shades of teal and aquamarine. The imposing statue of the Goddess Ashera stood vigil in the courtyard’s center, arms at her side, looking towards the main gates in stony judgment.

Soren grimaced, silently grateful that the statue was facing away from him.

He stood up, adjusted the oil in the hanging lamp to give him better light, and was about to sit down and resume his study when Ike’s fluffy-haired head peeked around a bookshelf.

“I thought I’d find you here!” Ike said.

“Your powers of deduction are ever-sharpening,” Soren replied dryly.

Ike huffed a little laugh and came to stand next to him. “I just wanted to see what you were up to. I’ve already had to diffuse a fight between Jill and Lethe, found out Nasir’s going to be gone for the next week, formally accepted Astrid into the company, and unintentionally learned bad manners from Gatrie. Compared to all that, taking a few minutes to see you and be somewhere quiet is a blessing.”

Soren let himself smile—just barely—at that.

“It’s nothing imperative, just…” He waved his fingers in the air. “Thoughts. Research. ”

“Well, don’t let me keep you if you need space,” Ike said.

“You can stay,” Soren said quickly. He gestured at the empty chair next to him, already reaching for another book in a stack on the table. “If you like, of course. I assume the Apostle hasn’t reached a unanimous decision with her Senate?”

“Not yet,” Ike said, settling into the seat. He folded his arms behind his head, leaning against the chair back. Grass stains covered his new shirt. “I understand that there are procedures to follow, but this is getting ridiculous…”

“Nothing to do but wait, I suppose,” Soren said. He turned the new book in his hands, examining the irregularly cut page margins. He shot Ike a wry look out of the corner of his eye as he sat back down. “What were those ‘bad manners’ Gatrie taught you?”

“Oh. That.” Ike pressed both hands against the back of his neck, visibly uncomfortable, like he wanted to slip under the table and melt into the floorboards. “Apparently ‘admiring the flowers’ is a euphemism for ‘ogling women’. This whole time I thought he was talking about plants!”

Soren snorted. “That sounds like something Gatrie would say. I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t fallen prey to some charming lady’s schemes by now.”

“What, you think Astrid is just tugging him along for the fun of it?”

“I would in her position. Imagine how much money you could make by tricking idiotic men into giving up their coinpurses.”

“I’m sure someone’s off doing that, somewhere,” Ike said, leaning back in his chair with a creak. Soren surreptitiously checked to make sure Ike wasn’t in danger of tipping over. “A dashing rogue who fools people out of their wallets with charm and charisma. Astrid seems too sincere to do anything like that. Shinon probably has stories, though. He and Gatrie went out drinking in town often enough.”

Ike immediately grimaced.

“Come to think of it, I don’t want to hear those.”

“A sound decision,” Soren said. “His tales are probably laced with expletives that even your father didn’t know.”

“That’s…probably true,” Ike laughed under his breath. “Father kept his temper with me and Mist—most of the time, anyway, except when we were kids and I tried to take her medallion without asking—but I’m sure Shinon’s is even worse. Do you think he’s doing okay?”

“Who cares?” Soren said.

“Well, he was one of Father’s employees. I wouldn’t go so far as to call him family, but he and Gatrie got along well, and Rolf liked to trail after him to watch archery practice. If we found Gatrie on board a Begnion boat halfway across Tellius, who knows, Shinon could show up in the middle of a skirmish out in the countryside. Not like we’re getting any job offers stuck here waiting for the Apostle, but…”

“Mm.” Soren spread his fingers over the book crease to keep it open so he could still gesture with his other hand. Two passages in and already this book was as repetitive as the last. “It’s more likely the man found a more lucrative position across the border. War is profitable for mercenaries. He has no particular affection for friend or country; I assume his allegiance lies with whoever has deeper pockets.”

“You think he went over to Daein?” Ike asked.

“It’s possible. I certainly wouldn’t discount it unless given proof.”

“Shh,” said a librarian to their right. The man stuck the books in his arm into their respective places on the shelf and left, but not without giving the two boys one last warning look. Soren ignored him.

“Sorry,” Ike whispered after the librarian. He winced at Soren. “I hope I don’t get you kicked out.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Soren said. “I’ve already secured access to all of the library’s materials. All it took was a bit of persuasion and only two threats.”

“Only two?” Ike joked.

“As it turns out, being able to cite both the Apostle and the Princess of Crimea as authorities does wonders on opening bureaucratically-locked doors.”

Ike laughed, all too bright in the musty library stacks, and drummed his fingertips softly on the table. The smooth veneer lit by the overhanging lamp reflected the callouses under his palm.

Soren quickly checked that they were alone—the reference desk was across the floor, and no one else was meandering through the shelves—and then withdrew a folded paper from inside his mantle. Like Ike, he’d been given new clothes by the temple staff, and even if the material was too supple and whispered when he moved, he didn’t mind it nearly as much as their commander. Cloth was cloth. At the end of the day, as long as it kept you warm and free of blisters, that was all it needed to do.

“Speaking of Daein,” he said quietly, “I finally received that report copy from Tanith. Apparently the affair back in Cellay is just as underhanded as I suspected.”

“Really?” Ike said, all humor suddenly gone from his face. “What does it say?”

“Of the ten so-called ‘pirates’ the Holy Guard apprehended, one spilled her entire story, and a second confirmed it. The group was Daenish. Soldiers, a subdivision of General Mackoya led under a man named Norris.”

Ike cursed under his breath. “Was it an assassination attempt on the Apostle after all?”

“Surprisingly, no. The fools literally had no idea that the ship they attacked belonged to the Apostle. Apparently they’d bought information from the King of Kilvas on Princess Elincia’s location…and he misled them.”

“Does that mean he’s on our side?”

“Hardly,” Soren said with a derisive snort. “From my understanding, those ravens seek only to line their own pockets. That they were involved in this only means they wanted to steal money from a lucrative beorc nation, nothing more.”

“This is all getting so complicated,” Ike said, looking out the window. Shadows began to creep over the courtyard. The Goddess statue cast the most imposing one of all—when Soren risked a peek at it, the shadow was a line like a dagger pointed at the gates, casting out the temple’s sinners.

_‘The Goddess watches over all of us,’_ came a memory unbidden from his subconscious. _‘She guides our steps and offers judgment for our sins. Speak, children, and She will hear you.’_

And in an instant he was ten years younger sitting in a pew with a broken voice and the looming gaze of a Goddess who never cared for him, who never saw fit to grant him a scrap of food or kindness, a petrified monument to everything wrong in the wretched world—

“Soren?”

Soren blinked hard to clear away the vision. He was here, in a library, not miles away under the thumb of clerics who thought they knew what was best for orphans. Begnion’s capital, not Crimea’s outskirts. Eighteen and fluent, not eight and a half without command of common tongue.

His fingernails dug into the page.

“…Are you okay?” Ike asked. “You look worried.”

“I’m fine, Ike,” Soren said. “Just thinking.”

“If you’re sure…”

Soren tugged the open book a bit closer, bending over it to let his hair hide part of his face. He’d been doing so well, _so well_ , and yet all it took was a slip in focus, a happenstance shadow from a statue that no one except Rhys really cared for, and that suffocating chapel of a memory came rushing back. Soren inhaled deeply through his nose and tried to slow his breathing.

_And Ike doesn’t need to hear about it,_ he thought, glancing at his friend sitting beside him. _He has far too many troubles as it is. My own distaste for the church should not be one of them._

The hour dragged on. Shadows lengthened outside; Soren’s eyes went dry from reading; the neatly penned letters blurred into inky smudges when he blinked. Ike even started to doze in the chair—head back, mouth slightly open, bangs lifting with every soft exhalation. Soren checked on him every so often but kept his attention on the book. Now that the author had finally gotten past mere reiteration, there was fascinating material about magical origins, its phylogeny, theories on what spirits were actually made from, and all manner of referenced papers and experiments that Soren knew he could find in the library archives if he hunted keenly enough.

Ike started awake with a sleepy grunt. He squinted at the timepiece on the wall and stretched.

“Alright, I think that’s about as long of a break I’m able to take for now,” he said, rubbing the sleep grit from his eyes. “I don’t want folks coming after me with business and finding your hiding place.”

“I doubt they’d make it past the circulation desk,” Soren said without looking over. Three paragraphs, and he’d be done with this section.

_‘Magical talent is innate in all sapient beings. Theologists argue that the Goddess Ashera blessed all humanity—both humans and shapeshifting sub-humans—with a portion of Her power, though modern beliefs range from an outright rejection of this religious aspect to an attempt at modifying it through secular logic. Regardless, the origins of magic do not affect the ways in which it manifests in individuals. Many attempts have been made to trace the bloodlines of famous mages in an effort to determine if magical prowess is hereditary. While there is growing evidence that innate magic may be passed down through generations, by and large, the talent an individual possesses is determined by seemingly random circumstance. Magical spirits are drawn to those with magical power. This is the way it has always been.’_

Soren heard the chair scrape as Ike stood, felt his body heat standing just beside his shoulder.

“Are you coming to dinner?” Ike asked.

“Maybe later.” Two paragraphs.

_‘While most mages learn to control spirits on their own, there are some uncommon individuals who take a more active role in developing their innate magical talent. These ‘spirit charmers’ create a pact with an elemental spirit and are oft stronger than the average practitioner. In the following section, we shall elucidate the many means spirit charmers make their pacts. However, it is worth mentioning an extremely rare and poorly documented caveat—the mark of a half-breed, a forbidden union between human and sub-human condemned in all societies [See: Parentless, Branded. Do not confuse with Blood Pact].’_

“Please?”

Soren managed to tear his eyes away from the page long enough to see Ike—really _see_ him, young and honest and all too kind to everyone who deserved it. Ike’s hand was resting on the back of Soren’s chair a hair’s breadth from his shoulder.

“I…all right,” Soren said. His heartbeat quickened in his chest.

He left the book.

_I know I’m not sick,_ he thought as he led Ike around the stacks and back to the library’s central grand staircase. The rest of the grand building was quiet and restful; even those dressed in finery and with all the pompous attitude of nobles gave Ike and Soren hardly a passing glance, too engrossed in their reading to bother giving them attention.

The air was just as humid outside as Soren expected. Even this late in the day, when the sun was sinking and relinquishing its hold upon the land, summer this far south was uncomfortable and made everything feel sticky. Soren conjured a breeze with the twist of his fingers, coaxing a small wind spirit to whisk through the open yard as he and Ike headed to the nearest dining hall. Ike held the door for him and made sure to sit near the end of one of the tables, letting Soren have the space he needed to retreat if it got too loud.

It was only later that Soren realized Ike didn’t _have_ to wait and walk with him all the way to the dining hall when they were a mere two minutes away.

And yet he did.

And there was comfort in that gesture enough to keep the memories at bay, at least for now.

Yet in all the quiet commotion, the book Soren had been reading lay forgotten on the table, picked up and quietly re-shelved among its brethren in the cramped library stacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws text into the void* when will nanowrimo free me of this mortal coil (the end of november, duh)
> 
> thanks 4 reading! please stay safe!


	55. Chapter 55

Late summer was one of the most brilliant times of the year in Tellius, as far as Titania was concerned. Distant thunderstorms, comfortable weather, sunlight still lingering in the sky past dinnertime and not warm enough to bring about sloth. Many fond seasons were spent riding through central Crimea’s rolling fields, kicking up fireflies and grasshoppers, and taking the children into town on particularly slow afternoons once the day’s work was done.

Of course, one could hardly enjoy the fine weather stuck indoors.

Titania sat at a circular oak table with Mist on one side and Ike across from her, all three listening as Soren paced one length of the wood-paneled study. He gestured while he talked—animated hands and dancing fingers, like a conductor of a choir of information—and went over the situation with Gallia and Daein for what felt like the twentieth time that month.

Mist groaned and planted her forehead against the table.

“You didn’t have to stick around, you know,” Ike told her kindly but firmly in an undertone. “I know Soren’s lectures aren’t your favorite thing in the world.”

“I wanted to hang out with you!” Mist insisted. She shifted so her chin could rest on the table instead, her bangs a mess across her brow. “I assumed you’d be done with all the boring stuff by now…”

“Princess Elincia and the Apostle still haven’t reached an accord with the Senate. I’m as antsy as you are for something to do, but don’t be a pest.”

“I’m not being a pest!”

Soren cleared his throat. Titania stifled a laugh behind her hand—the way those three got along, it was like she had never left home.

A pang of heartache twitched in Titania’s chest. _Greil would be so proud._

“Soren, we’ve been through this,” Titania said wearily, hoping one final reiteration would get the boy to stop his fervent theorizing. “If Gallia announces a formal declaration of war against Daein, then it’s only a matter of time before the rest of the beorc nations get involved.”

“Then I assume your position hasn’t changed since last we discussed this?” Soren asked flatly.

“No, it hasn’t,” Titania said, crossing her arms. “Siding with the laguz is the right thing to do. King Caineghis and King Ramon were friends, and in the interest of Crimea’s relations with Gallia and Princess Elincia’s own feelings, we ought to honor that arrangement. It’s unthinkable siding with Daein at this point.”

“Soren, we made up our minds a while ago,” Ike said. “Without any new information, we’re just running in circles. Come sit down before you wear a hole in the floorboards with all that pacing.”

“The flooring here is more than structurally sound,” Soren muttered, but he abandoned his track and came to sit next to Ike anyway. The oak table, like every other piece of wooden furniture in the temple, was polished to a smooth shine, able to reflect light and visages like wood-stained mirrors.

“Speaking of the Princess,” Titania said, “I take it she’s at another meeting?”

“Sadly,” said Ike. “A little time off is one thing, but this is getting ridiculous. We’ve been here a week without anything to really do—no jobs, since Elincia is our employer and she’s busy with the nobility. I guess I can get in some more sword practice…”

“And ruin another new shirt?” Titania said, a teasing gleam in her eye.

“Boyd and I finished the laundry days ago!” Mist said. “Brother can go back to messing up his _own_ shirts from now on.”

“Hey!” Ike protested.

A knock came against the door. Mist scrambled out of her chair to get it; Titania turned around in her seat, one hand subconsciously reaching for the axe that was not at her side. Open arms were not permitted in the temple—aside from slim swords and lances, at least—and while Titania respected the rule, she missed having the easy access of her battleaxe. Even _if_ the thing was a heavy weight, it was a comforting one.

“I apologize for the interruption,” said Tanith, coming into the study with Marcia in her wake. The pink-haired girl finally looked closer to her old self—bubbly and bright-eyed, not somber and guilty the way she had been since they’d first come in contact with the Holy Pegasus Knights. A new half-cape hung off her shoulders that matched Tanith’s own.

“Tanith, what can we do for you?” Ike said, rising from his seat.

“I’ve been sent to check on you. The Apostle and Commander Sigrun wish to know how you are enjoying your stay here.”

“There’s nothing to do here, and Mist is bored.”

“Ike!” Mist exclaimed. She smacked her brother on the arm with the back of her hand. “Why’d you say that?”

“Ow! You were _just_ complaining about it a minute ago!”

“You’ll have to forgive their manners,” Titania said to Tanith. “I’m afraid everyone is a bit antsy from a lack of direction.”

“I can understand that,” Tanith said. Marcia edged carefully out from behind her and sidled to one side of the door. Tanith spared her a look before continuing, “I hope my visit can alleviate some of that, at least. Apostle Sanaki and Princess Elincia have reached a rudimentary aid plan with the Senate. I’m to deliver the following to Commander Ike.”

“What is it?” Ike asked.

Tanith crossed to him and handed him two folded papers sealed with gold wax.

“The first is a work order. The details are enclosed; it’s a sensitive matter best dealt with as soon as possible before the target moves out of range.”

“The Apostle wants to employ us?” Ike said, perking up. He broke the seal and skimmed the contents, then handed it to Soren. The little red mark on Soren’s brow creased as he started forming ideas.

“Why, Ike, you almost look happy for a change,” Titania said.

“We’ve been sitting around the temple for a week—I’m just glad to have something to do,” he replied.

“I would’ve thought you’d be spouting and fuming about having to work for the Apostle?”

“I can’t stand her, but…” Ike ran his free hand through his hair. “If Princess Elincia can tolerate endless bureaucracy and meetings to garner Begnion’s favor, the least I can do is help her earn a few points by running an errand or two.”

“At least it isn’t ‘buy her groceries’,” Soren quipped while he read.

He gave the letter to Titania—it was simple enough at first glance, similar to the old mission briefs Greil used to write for her and Oscar if they were sent out of the local radius. Location, objective, deadline, payment. Titania frowned. In small handwriting at the bottom was a condition:

_‘Kill if necessary. Report cargo seizure immediately via pegasus relay. Do NOT open cargo.’_

The smaller paper Tanith delivered had a gold ribbon pressed underneath the seal. Ike gave the ribbon to Mist when he broke the wax and read, slowly, his face settling into an uneasy grimace.

“The second,” Tanith said, “is an invitation to Duke Persis’s mansion for a private gala tomorrow evening.”

Mist’s face lit up like the sun.

“Absolutely not,” Ike said.

“Ike, manners!” Titania scolded.

“If the Apostle wants to meet with me and go over her plans to help Elincia, that’s fine; she can do that on her own time,” Ike said. He almost handed the paper back to Tanith, but a look from both Titania and Soren made him hold on to it. The paper hung limp between his fingers. “The last thing I want to do is attend some fancy ball and pretend to be someone I’m not.”

“The Apostle told me you might react this way,” Tanith said, hiding a wry smile. “She said specifically that you’d be allowed one to two guests. That, and I quote, ‘perhaps having company he can stand will sway him and that hot-headed temper of his’.”

“What!”

“Ike…” Titania said.

“It would be a good opportunity,” Soren said, giving Ike a significant look. “So far, all we’ve done is wait behind closed doors while Princess Elincia manages her affairs. The chance to meet Begnion’s dignitaries up close, learn their secrets, gauge their temperament—it’s not something to pass up.”

Ike heaved a sigh and set the invitation on the table. Mist snatched it as soon as his hand withdrew and held it close to her face.

“Alright, fine,” Ike said to Tanith. “Do I need to send a return letter or something?”

“No need; I’ll report back to the Apostle along with confirmation that you’ve accepted the work order,” Tanith replied. “I will need to know your guests, if any.”

“Soren,” Ike said automatically.

Soren’s head snapped up like he’d been bitten. The tips of his ears turned bright red. Titania leaned an arm over one side of her chair, smiling quietly.

“Ike, what—?” Soren hissed.

“You’re my tactician and my best friend,” Ike said, like the fact was so obvious it didn’t even need restating. “If anyone can glean subtle information from a simple party, it’s you. Besides, I might accidentally use the wrong glass or improperly shake someone’s hand. With you around I know I’ll have someone to talk to who won’t drive me up the wall.”

“I…okay,” Soren mumbled. He took the Apostle’s work order back from Titania and focused all his attention on it.

“Titania, do you want…?” Ike asked.

“I’m fine staying out of it,” Titania said with a courteous nod. “I used to be a Crimean Royal Knight—I’ve had my share of parties in my own youth. King Ramon was not one for idle frivolity, but he made sure to honor those in his service.”

“Can I come?” Mist asked.

“It starts fairly late,” Ike said. “Don’t you usually fall sleep by nine?”

“I can stay up!” Mist turned eagerly to Titania. “Right, Titania?”

“It might be better to leave your brother and Soren alone for this one,” Titania said. She tried to wink at Ike, but the poor boy was distracted enough as it is.

“Aww…” Mist pouted.

“You and I can ask for permission to see Sienne,” Titania said warmly, leaning in to put her hand reassuringly between Mist’s shoulders. “I’m sure the city has plenty of sights to see. Tell you what, why don’t you and I go shopping? You’ve grown since the last time we went together. I’m sure we can find a few pieces perfect for the coming fall.”

“Ooh, yes!”

“Fine by me,” Ike said. “Getting them past the temple gates won’t be an issue, right, Tanith?”

“Not at all,” Tanith said. “But before I go, I’d also like to formally relinquish Marcia back to your care. Our matters are settled in regards to her recent behavior. She’s all yours.”

“Thank you,” Ike said. “I guess you can let the Apostle know we’ll be heading out for her job this afternoon, then.”

“Consider it done.”

Tanith bowed politely and withdrew, shutting the door behind her. As soon as she was gone, Marcia collapsed theatrically into an open chair beside the door.

“ _Whooo_ , what a relief!” she exhaled. “I thought she’d _never_ let up! Cheese and crackers, deputy commander Tanith was a bit of a stickler when I was under her wing, but she got _way_ stricter in the past five months!”

“Is that how long you’d been gone?” Ike asked.

“More or less. My stupid beets-for-brains brother, making me turn over every stone from here to Crimea looking for him…”

“You looked positively grim when we first met the Holy Guard,” Titania said. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all sugar and cream, it’s just…” Marcia sighed again. “Being in Begnion is kinda difficult for me. I’m so embarrassed! Even my old friends in the wings, they’re smiling and clapping me on the back and huggin’ like I was barely gone, but I know they’ve been gossiping every day since I left! It’s all my brother’s fault, I swear!”

“Don’t let it get to you too much,” Ike said. “I don’t want you distracted in a fight. Tell you what, now that you’re officially Greil Mercenary material again, why don’t you come with us on the Apostle’s little errand? Help us reclaim some stolen cargo?”

“You got it, handsome,” Marcia said, sitting up in her chair to give him a loose salute. “Maybe my scallop shell of a brother will finally show his face. Argh, I’ll be peeved if I’ve been searching all over central Tellius for him and he’s just been hanging around southern Begnion this whole time…”

Marcia was still grumbling when they all left the study. Titania thought she could hear the pegasus knight exclaim something about ‘steak on a skewer’ on her way to the stables.

“I hope you’re ready for a ride, girl,” Titania said to her horse, stroking its cheek and pushing its pale forelock out of its eyes. “We’ve got some bandits to catch.”

Her white destrier nickered and butted Titania’s palm. Titania laughed, got her tack and saddle, and was mounted and ready for Ike and the small group he assembled to ride out and tend the Apostle’s work order.

***

Laguz were such simple creatures, really.

When it came down to it, they bled and died just like any human. An arrow in the eye, a spear between the ribs, one well-placed swing of a broadsword and even the biggest beast would fall.

General Petrine kicked the corpse of a tiger off the end of her lance and let it smolder on the forest floor.

Her flame-licked lance blade cast a warm vermillion light around her as she hefted it against her shoulder. The cats _hated_ the flame—they hissed at it and scorned its use among such greenery, but Petrine came to love the blaze like a sibling. She loved the way the fire reflected such wide-eyed fear in her prey. Even those two-legged forms the sub-humans took, the ones that resembled any normal human save for the ears and tail, they danced warily around the enchanted end of her lance as if torn between a primal urge to flee or fight. But they all fell in the end. The only person who’d come close to besting her—that broad-shouldered man back at the border three months ago, the one in league with the damned sub-humans—not even he’d escaped without a loving burn mark.

Petrine sighed. Killing sub-humans was well and good, but it could just be so damned _dull_.

She scoured the array of trees her patrol was advancing through. The Sea of Trees lived up to its name, at least. Dense green canopies covered the forest in shades of green and brilliant chartreuse, hiding prey and vengeful sub-human warriors within the verdant shadow. Water clung to the trees and dripped through the canopy—three thunderstorms in ten days, and the rivers were overflowing their banks like snowmelt after winter. The Daein soldiers slogged through mud and swatted mosquitos, but none dared voice their complaints, not with General Petrine’s watchful eyes on their backs. For almost three months they’d been pressing deeper into Gallia, making small but noticeable progress each day. The Gallians ambushed them in their sleep and leapt from the treetops, but Petrine’s division was merciless, marching on in black-armored solemnity through brush and glade.

A breathless soldier staggered through the underbrush to reach Petrine’s side.

“A letter for you, General!” he said.

“Give it here,” Petrine said, nearly nicking the poor man’s palm with her fingernails when she snatched the letter from him. The crisp paper bore Daein’s seal: a curled wyvern, stamped into crimson wax and gone over with onyx ink.

Petrine let out a dry _harrumph._

“King Ashnard, huh,” she said, unimpressed. “I’m surprised he didn’t send the Black Knight to deliver his message and spare the paper.”

“I believe the fourth Rider is currently indisposed,” said the soldier. “According to rumor, anyway.”

“Oh, good. Do I allow _rumor_ to run rampant in my ranks?”

“N-no, ma’am!” stammered the soldier. He saluted sharply and winced when his fingers knocked against his metal helm.

Petrine grinned ferociously at him. “That’s _right!_ Because _rumor_ , you fool, muddles heads and makes men lose their grip on the ground in front of them. Daein has spies across Tellius. We do not engage in baseless rumor until we confirm its veracity. And then, dear boy, it is no longer rumor, but fact. Am I clear?”

“Y-yes, General!”

“Now go. I want three of those little feline pelts outside my tent within the hour.”

The soldier scrambled over his own feet to get out of her way. Petrine watched him go—and trip into a tree—before forgetting about him and turning the letter over in her hand. It _was_ odd that Ashnard would bother sending her a proper letter instead of letting his prized Rider relay the information, but one less person to deal with was a boon.

_It’s almost better, in a sense,_ she thought, sliding a sharp fingernail underneath the envelope seam. _That Black Knight unnerves me. We may be fellow Riders of Daein, but I have neither affection nor kinship for the man. Him_ and _his cursed blade and armor. The only matter I want is where he gets that warping powder—that’s it. Otherwise he can stay far away from me._

She skimmed the letter.

“Huh,” she said. She skewered the letter on the end of her lance and watched the paper flare into ashes before she turned around and headed back to camp.

She found Ena at the outskirts of camp, stationed at the fork between two overflowing rivers. The darling woman knelt beside the water, hands pressed to her forehead as if in prayer. Petrine slowed her approach, studying her. Ena was wont to lapse into bouts of pensive silence at times, thinking through battle tactics and offering such intimate knowledge of the beast sub-humans, but Petrine had never seen her meditate like this before.

“…Thank you, Grandfather,” Ena murmured.

She lowered her hands. Cupped between her palms was a small faceted stone, no bigger than a chicken egg, teal and translucent enough to refract Ena’s own fingers through its glassy surface. Ena sighed softly at the stone.

“Ena,” Petrine said.

Ena stood in a smooth motion and pocketed the stone inside her dress-length tunic. The woman did a damn good job at hiding her surprise. Not a muscle twitched out of place on her dusky face when she realized she’d been spotted.

“General Petrine,” she said calmly. “May I help you?”

“Ena, dear, you’re always a grand help to me,” Petrine said, eying the pocket Ena’s hand had disappeared into. “So much so that I must ask you to accompany me on an important mission. The King himself wants us to fortify his borders. He believes that blasted Princess Elincia is planning something in Begnion.”

“That would not surprise me,” said Ena. “Was she not spotted reaching their borders last week?”

“That she was, dear,” Petrine said, beckoning Ena to follow in her footsteps as she turned about-face and began walking through camp. Other Daein soldiers in traditional black-and-silver armor snapped to attention when they saw her. Petrine smiled toothily at each in turn. “One of General Mackoya’s captains sought passage through the Blue Mountains to head them off at the shore. The poor man drowned for his effort. What a shame.”

Petrine stopped outside her tent—the most fortified among the camp, bristling with sharpened stakes around all sides to keep out both beast and unwelcome human nuisance. The two guards she’d posted saluted her and Ena with straight backs and stiff limbs.

“Fetch my wyvern,” Petrine ordered, “and have my ten strongest soldiers outfitted and ready to fly in twenty minutes.”

“At once, General,” said the guards, hurrying with a clank of metal greaves to fulfill her orders.

“Wyverns?” Ena asked once they were gone. “Not your horse?”

“Ena, we’re to fortify the Daein-Begnion border,” Petrine explained carefully. “That is across the continent! No horse can cross the ground half as effectively as a wyvern does in the air. That’s simple logic.”

Petrine paused, sniffing the air.

“Is that a new perfume?” she asked Ena.

“No.”

“You smell like sweet anise, darling.”

“Perhaps it is the tea I carry,” Ena said, drawing a small canvas pouch from her belt. She held it out to Petrine; sure enough, the warm scent of sweet anise and other spices assaulted her nostrils as soon as she got within a foot of it. “I was going to make a pot once I finished preparing tomorrow’s distribution plans.”

“There will be time for tea later. I want us at the foothills of the Blue Mountains by sunset.”

Ena’s fingers twitched. When Petrine turned her head to look at the flat of her tent, she saw Ena surreptitiously feel the edges of her ears and quickly return her hands to her side.

“And we don’t need to fret about deliveries anymore,” Petrine said. “Izuka has plenty of material at his new clinic. If he needs more meat there are scores of these dumb cat-folk throwing themselves at us.”

“That…is good,” Ena hedged.

“Yes, it is. The blasted man has already funneled too much gold into his research than I care to see. At least the end product is worth it.”

Petrine paused, studying Ena’s delicate face.

“Hold a moment, dear,” she said.

Ena froze. Petrine closed the space between them and carefully swiped a thumb, slowly, over Ena’s cheek. Nothing came away on her fingertip. Petrine frowned.

“Darling, you must tell me where you get your makeup,” she said. “Your cheeks glimmer like firelight and yet I find no powder that covers it.”

“It—it is nothing but ground talc and mica,” Ena said. “I can make a blend that suits your fairer complexion, if you would like.”

“Please do,” Petrine said. Her eyelid twitched—Ena was not one to stammer.

_Perhaps the girl is self-conscious,_ Petrine thought. _Well, she’s no need to. Women like us can get whatever we want—the combination of power and beauty is a deadly one._

“Enough dawdling,” she said. “Pack your things and meet me here in ten minutes. That should give those other lummoxes time to get their asses in gear.”

“Where are we going specifically, if I may ask?”

Petrine grinned, exposing preternaturally sharp canine teeth.

“Tor Garen,” she purred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am going to take the biggest nap when nanowrimo is over


	56. Chapter 56

Soren crept silently through the underbrush. Every step felt like he was treading on glass. The crack of twigs under his shoes could have been thunderclaps, every rustle of a branch against his robes a windstorm betraying his position.

Soren kept his breathing slow and even, red eyes trained on the cart ahead.

The rustic thing was parked along the side of the dirt road, one of its wheels stuck in a narrow ditch. The two donkeys pulling the cart stood nervously at its head, swishing their tails and rolling their heads with worried brays, eying something on the other side of the road. Thick grass tall as the cart swept out in a long field bordering a nearby village. The bandits ignored whatever was in the field and heaved their shoulders against the cart, trying to dislodge it, kicking up pebbles and clods of dirt while a handful stood bickering in the middle of the road. Their bawdy voices carried even from a hundred yards away:

“…decent crop this time, even if one of ‘em fights like a brawler.”

“The hell kind of stance is that? Gashilama, you said we’d have twenty cats this time around, and all we’ve got are five mangy curs and three hawks! We can’t get rich with this!”

“Yeah, how’s we supposed to buy new axes without a fat purse? We oughta try Serenes next, maybe there’s good pickins hiding in there…”

“Hey!” shouted the loudest of them all. He took a hatchet from his belt and brandished it at each cowering bandit he could see. “Are you all daft? Do you have _wyvern dung_ for brains? Serenes Forest is haunted—no one’s seen hide nor hair of anything valuable in there in twenty years. So we do what we got to do! If that means dragging a bunch of dead-weight pelts the long way around, so be it! The next one of you who complains about a poor crop gets to be bait for the next hunt, how d’you like that?”

 _Gashilama, that must be the one in charge,_ Soren thought, squinting at the man in question. This ‘Gashilama’ fellow was built like a lumber worker and boasted a thick head of violet hair—and an equally violent array of hatchets strapped across his back. He and the ragged group of bandits wore fur-trimmed accents despite the season, save for one miserable-looking fellow dressed in contrasting armor trying to keep the donkeys under control.

Soren withdrew before they could notice. He crept uphill to where the rest of their small unit lay waiting and quietly relayed the information to Ike, who frowned at the cart still stuck on the road. The copse of trees they hid behind was dense enough to disguise them at a passing glance, but if those bandits came any further and happened to look up, they’d see the horses immediately like they were boulders in a snowy field. Even a thinly wooded hillside couldn’t hide them forever.

Rainclouds condensed over the countryside—waste too much time, and they’d lose both daylight and stable terrain.

Ike had opted for a small group—him and Soren, Titania and Oscar, Marcia, Mist, Mordecai, and Rhys—likely to avoid drawing too much attention, but swift enough to get the job done before sundown. Mist nervously gripped the brass staff in her hands, shooting Rhys a glance every other second. Rhys put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

Mordecai had shifted into his burly tiger form and was sitting on his haunches, tensely scenting the air with his jaw open.

“Mordecai smells laguz,” he growled.

“They seem like ordinary poachers to me,” Soren replied. “Perhaps the Apostle wants to reduce unlicensed hunting.”

“That makes sense,” Ike said. “Soren, what do you think? Do we strike now or wait? Those clouds don’t look happy…”

“Ordinarily, we’d wait here and strike from above when they pass beneath that boulder there,” Soren said, pointing out a rock that jutted like a sore thumb out of the hill, “but they’re stuck fast. We should not bother waiting if we can take them now before they free the cart or before the rain hits. That village is close. It’s likely their rendezvous point for trade or a potential buyer.”

“All right. Thank you.”

Ike delegated his orders, and the Greil Mercenaries spread down through the woods. At his signal they burst from the trees onto the road.

The bandits shrieked and scrambled for their weapons. Oscar and Titania jumped their horses over a narrow ditch lining the side of the road and began to establish a perimeter with their longer weapons, leaving the rest of the mercenaries to sweep in to the center throng. Soren kept Ike’s familiar form always in sight, though he maneuvered to the opposite end of the cart in order to apply pressure from both ends.

The pink-haired man at the donkeys’ heads yelped and immediately threw himself into the grass off the side of the road. Soren had half a mind to smoke him out with a well-placed fire spell, but before he could flip to the sigil page Marcia tore down on her pegasus and landed with a wallop of wings and hoofbeats where the man was hiding.

“ _Makalov!_ ” she shouted, dismounting and dragging the man up by the ear. “You absolute _chowder head!_ ”

“H-hey, sis!” the man stammered. Now that they were standing next to each other, the similarity was unmistakable—the same hair color, the same narrow chin, but where Marcia was fire and spirit Makalov was a wilting plant. “I was just thinking about paying you a visit, hah—”

“Where in Tellius have you _been?_ ” Marcia shouted. Makalov winced—she still gripped him tightly by the ear, even though he had two inches’ height on her. “You rack up all that gambling debt and run away—I had debt collectors hanging around the barracks so often that I had to _quit_ my _job_ to track your sorry behind! You’re such an irresponsible _skunk!_ ”

“Aw, c’mon, sis…”

“You two!” Soren snapped. “Save your bickering reunion until _after_ we finish the job!”

Marcia released Makalov’s ear, though her brother looked about ready to run into the field the instant no one was looking at him.

Soren pointed at him. “You. Are you with the enemy or not?”

“N-no!” Makalov stammered. “I mean, they hired me as a bodyguard, but I never got paid, so…”

“Marcia, keep an eye on him,” Soren ordered. “Makalov, or whatever your name is, you fight with us now. Maybe Ike will knock some sense into you.”

Makalov whimpered something to Marcia and receive a sound smack on the back of the shoulder for it.

“Stuff it, sponge-brain! Enough lame excuses!” Marcia scolded. “Get your butt in gear and follow me, _now!_ You _better_ not have gotten rusty with your sword training while I wasn’t around.”

“I…ah, geez, okay, sorry, sis…”

Soren left the siblings to take up arms and surveyed the battle. Everything was going as smoothly as he’d hoped—everything except the bandit leader, Gashilama, who, rather than fight, was perfectly content to lean casually against the back of the cart near the crates. He had a hatchet hefted in his arms but let his underlings do the fighting for him.

Soren glared at him. _Cut off the head, and the body follows,_ he thought, already thumbing through his spellbook for something to knock this fool to the ground. Fresh sigils newly-inked by his meticulous hand ached to leave the page. Soren rested his thumb atop an augmented wind sigil and slowly advanced.

Gashilama laughed.

“My, you’re a spirited lot, I’ll give you that!” he called to Soren. “I thought you were nothing but a pack of rats, but you fight like those sub-human cats!”

Down the road, two bandits exchanged blows with Mia, who ducked and weaved under their clumsy swings like she was moving through reeds in a marsh. She cut the back of one bandit’s thigh and swiftly knocked him to the ground.

“Even a rat knows where to bite a jugular vein,” Soren said.

“Hah! Aight, I’ll give you that,” Gashilama said. He grinned. “But y’all are in for a treat…”

Soren had half a syllable of the spell on his tongue, ready to send a gust and flatten this pompous man against the dirt, when Gashilama pulled something shiny from a fur-lined pocket.

The bandit brought the silver whistle to his lips and blew.

Soren gasped and clapped both hands over his ears—the sound that burst from that whistle was shrill as nails on a chalkboard, sharp and grating and _painful_ , like his bones were being scraped with the sharp side of a kitchen knife.

Gashilama pocketed the whistle with a smug grin.

Oscar rode up astride his chestnut courser, lance leveled at Gashilama, but he yanked on his reins when he noticed Soren standing still.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I…” Soren paused. “That noise. The whistle. …You didn’t hear it?”

“Hear what?” Oscar’s brow furrowed. “Soren, are you okay?”

Soren wanted to say he was fine, that maybe he’d heard something carried in the wind, but at that moment two transformed laguz tigers tall as the cart wheels burst from the field and halted at Gashilama’s heels. The beasts were comparable to Mordecai, but their ribs jutted out from their sides, their red and purple pelts lacked luster, and their eyes stared vacant and hollow. Saliva dripped down their long fangs.

Mordecai bristled. A low growl rumbled from his throat.

The other tigers were blank, unemotional slates.

“Sic ‘em,” said Gashilama.

The bigger of the two leapt straight at Oscar, but the leaner one swiveled its head and sniffed the air. Soren kept one hand on his spellbook and watched the red-furred laguz. There was an ample space between them—enough to run with a decent head start, but only a fool would run from a predator that could outpace you within three strides.

An arrow thudded into the road two feet from Soren’s leg. He jumped back on instinct.

The tiger swiveled its head to face him.

It stalked closer.

And closer.

And Soren backed away with each advancing pawstep, fear clamping his throat shut like a vice, spellbook clutched in his thin fingers. The skirmish blurred around him. Soren stubbed his heel against branches and stones, backing further and further away from the road and into the underbrush, those unblinking unwavering _unmoving_ feline eyes fixated on him and the cursive red mark upon his forehead.

Soren tried to speak. Not even a whisper of old tongue passed through his lips.

His back scraped against a tree trunk.

 _Don’t look at me!_ he thought frantically. _You aren’t supposed to notice me! That’s all you’ve ever done, you damned beasts, why now, why_ now _—_

The tiger crouched flat-bellied against the underbrush. The thick dorsal crest along its back bristled as it growled, opened its jaws, and sprang.

A streak of sky blue slammed into the tiger mid-jump. Soren shrank against the trunk behind him, eyes wide and heartbeat pounding as Mordecai put himself between him and the other tiger, growling something in the laguz language that seemed to fall on deaf ears. The red tiger swiped a thick paw at Mordecai, streaking his cheek with blood, and Mordecai yowled before he bunched his legs and pounced. The two tigers swatted one another with paws heavy as lead weights that cracked branches and crushed saplings. Mordecai slammed his paws against the red tiger’s shoulders, upsetting its balance and knocking it onto the ground. Before the other tiger could recover, Mordecai brought his jaws together with a _snap_ that broke the other tiger’s neck. Solemnly Mordecai laid the dead cat’s head on the ground before he released it. He looked at Soren with sadness aching in his gold eyes.

“Sister tiger was not herself,” he said. Blood soaked his muzzle and ran down his teeth. “Neither was brother tiger. They…did not listen. React only to seek and kill. Only to hunt. Very troubling.”

“I…will make sure Ike knows this,” Soren said. His throat was bone dry.

“Mm.”

Mordecai bowed his furry head. In his beast form, he stood as tall as Soren at the shoulders, able to look him levelly in the eye without needing to stoop. Soren shivered. Mordecai was a gentle giant at the best of times, but the scent of fresh blood and churned earth so strong and so _close_ made Soren’s stomach churn.

“Mordecai thinks this is wise,” Mordecai continued. “Telling Ike. He has their leader. Not long now.”

Soren looked out past the brush. Sure enough, Ike had Gashilama locked in single combat—even the other bandits and mercenaries gave them berth as the two swung and parried across the span of the old town road. Soren managed to tear his eyes from Ike long enough to give a curt nod to Mordecai.

“I…” Soren gulped. “Thank you.”

He gestured limply at the dead laguz. Mordecai’s round ears flicked back and forth, and his whiskers twitched in what Soren hoped was a smile and not something more ferocious.

“Mordecai is friend of Ike. Soren is also friend of Ike. Friend of Ike is friend of Mordecai. Mordecai forgives Soren for starting off on wrong paw in Gallia.”

“Sure,” Soren said. His hands shook.

“Mordecai can let you ride on his back?”

“Absolutely not.”

Mordecai shrugged one of his massive shoulders and padded away, though he never strayed more than a few feet from Soren’s side. The blue tiger’s long tail brushed against Soren’s hip as if checking that he was still there. Soren batted it away every time.

 _Nasir_ did _say laguz hate spirit charmers,_ he thought, sorting through what had happened in an effort to make sense of it. _That…laguz…it singled me out like it_ knew _what I was. Like it was ready to tear out my throat. Maybe whatever affected the minds of those two tigers amplified their instincts in lieu of a conscience._

_Like a wild beast._

He nervously picked at his sleeves.

 _The Mainal Cathedral library is amply stocked. Even in a country that reviles laguz, they must keep_ some _dissertations on them, on their behavior and a possible history between them and mages. It’s likely they’re in the basement, hidden from the public eye. I have the librarian’s key. As soon as I am able, I’ll find information so neither I nor Ike nor anyone we are responsible for are ever caught off guard by this. I cannot freeze like that again. So I will find the solution._

_There is always a logical explanation for everything._

But even as Soren assigned each thought a fact, something still tugged at the back of his mind.

Doubt, enemy of logic, dug its roots under his skin.

***

Ike leaned into his strike and pushed Gashilama back one step, two, making the man check his footing—and swept his sword across the man’s arm, catching him in the bicep. Gashilama growled and swung his hatchet so close to Ike’s sword grip that he almost lost a finger.

“Why didn’t you lay down your weapons and surrender?” Ike asked, circling out of Gashilima’s immediate reach. “You could have walked out of here with your lives still—”

 _Instead of ten dead people on a country road,_ Ike thought with a heavy weight in his chest. Two of them were dead by his own hand. Mia and Rhys were dragging the bodies to one side of the road while Ike dealt with the bandit leader.

Gashilama kicked Ike in the hip and sent him skittering to one side. Ike blocked the hatchet head with his sword in a shower of sparks.

“You shut your damn trap,” Gashilima growled, his violet mustache quivering. “I don’t know who sent you, but we ain’t losing our haul!”

“Poachers have no business here!”

“Poaching? Hah!”

Gashilama grunted and swung his hatchet wide. Ike ducked and rolled to one side, bringing his sword up in an arc that cut across Gashilama’s thigh. Blood flicked off the tip of his sword.

“Yeah, we’re poaching, all right,” Gashilama growled, breathing heavily. His next swing was a hair slower than the last, and it was all Ike needed to pivot to Gashilama’s injured side, forcing the man to lean on his bleeding leg. Gashilama stumbled. “But what do you care? You’re just like us! You eat meat—”

He punctuated the word with a hefty swing that went wide once again.

“You ride _horses_ —”

Ike blocked the hatchet head.

“Come on, we’re not hurting any humans here!”

Ike deflected the next swing and cut a deep gash along Gashilama’s stomach. The bandit stumbled back, clutching his bleeding torso with one hand.

“This is the last time I’ll offer,” Ike said gravely. “Lay down your weapon and surrender.”

“Eat shit,” Gashilama snarled.

Ike narrowed his eyes. He thrust forward, parried, knocked Galishima backward, and just as the man lunged to bury his hatchet in Ike’s skull Ike sidestepped and in a flash cut through the man’s windpipe. Blood gurgled out of Galishima’s throat. He fell glassy-eyed in a heap of furs and leather at Ike’s feet.

Ike lowered his blade. Blood ran down the fuller and seeped into the dirt.

He’d offered. The man refused.

Titania wheeled her destrier to a halt next to Ike. “Commander!” she said.

“I’m fine, Titania,” Ike said before she could ask. “Is everyone okay?”

“On our side, yes,” Titania replied. “I’m… Commander, I’m sorry, but none of the bandits survived. They threw themselves on us so fiercely that it was all we could do to defend ourselves.”

Ike ran a hand through his sweaty hair. He frowned at his hand. His knuckles were bleeding—that swing against his sword hilt hadn’t gone quite as wide as he’d hoped.

“That’s…expected,” he forced himself to say. “I wish it wasn’t, but…a mercenary’s work is bloody work.”

Titania winced.

“Where’s Soren?”

“Right here,” said a familiar voice off to Ike’s other side.

Ike whirled around so fast he almost smacked Soren with the end of his cape. Mordecai had shifted back into his beorcian form and was keeping a respectful distance near Soren, beefy arms folded behind his back and tail swishing side to side. Ike forced the image of a mother hen looking after her chicks out of his head and focused.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine, Ike,” Soren said.

Ike nodded, ready to dismiss it, but there was something—a twitch of the brow, some nonverbal tic that only years of friendship enabled him to see—that gave him pause.

 _I’ll have to ask him about it later,_ Ike thought. He whistled up at Marcia, who was sweeping the field on her pegasus for any other bandits lurking in the grass. She landed and gave him that casual salute. Someone else was on Casserole’s saddle with her.

“Who’s this?” Ike asked.

“ _This_ ,” said Marcia before the man could speak, “is my no-good, dirty rotten apple of an older brother, Makalov. He’s in _big_ trouble, Commander. Do your worst.”

Ike leaned back and gave the withering man a once-over. Makalov couldn’t be more than a few years Marcia’s senior, but he looked about as mature as the first tomatos from a yearling plant.

“So, you’re the vagabond Marcia’s been worrying herself sick over,” Ike said. Makalov opened his mouth to speak, but Ike held up a hand to stop him. His knuckles were still bleeding, and perhaps the effect was worth it—Makalov went pale and clamped his mouth shut. “You caused your sister a lot of grief. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“Hmph!” Marcia hummed.

“You were working for those poachers?”

“Yeeees,” Makalov hedged.

“Soren, look into this man’s owed funds,” Ike said. “I don’t want debt collectors haranguing my company.”

“Consider it done,” Soren said, smiling. Makalov visibly shuddered.

“Marcia, you’re faster than any of us,” Ike said, turning his attention to the more responsible pink-haired sibling. “Fly east and let Tanith know we have the cargo. We’ll be waiting here.”

“You got it, handsome!” Marcia said. She patted Casserole’s red roan neck and glared over her shoulder at her brother before urging her pegasus aloft. With a burst of speed she was gone, a dark speck against the deep gray sky.

“…It’s just ‘Ike’,” Ike muttered as they flew off. “Although, if I’ve had to correct her for this long and she still insists on a nickname, I doubt she’ll change.”

“Better than being called a lord, I assume,” said Soren.

“They’re about the same in terms of making me physically uncomfortable,” Ike said, scratching his neck. Soren reached over and took his hand without asking, brow furrowed, and proceeded to tie a thin strip of linen around Ike’s knuckles. Ike chuckled.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

“Brother, are we really going to stay out here?” Mist asked, coming over with Rhys.

Ike quickly checked that she wasn’t bleeding—his sister was unscathed insofar as he could tell, and she wasn’t limping. He let out a tense breath.

“We need to wait for Tanith’s pegasus relay,” Ike said. “The cart’s stuck, and those crates are too heavy to move by hand.”

“But it’s gonna rain!”

“Then you can wait under the trees,” Ike said. “I’m not splitting us up, even if there’s a village across the field there. If we stick together we’ll be back inside the city before the weather gets too bad.”

“What’s inside the crates, anyway?” Rhys asked.

“We were told not to open them,” Soren said. “An explicit condition on our work order.”

“It’s not unusual, especially for missions that involve cargo acquisition,” Titania said. “Most of the time it’s a merchant paying us to shepherd a load from one town to another. It’s more about the protection than the contents.”

“Ah, that… makes sense,” Rhys said, “but I…nevermind.”

“What?” Ike asked.

“I thought I heard voices inside. But there were many voices shouting during that fight. I may have misheard.”

Ike idly rotated his wrist. Rhys gave him a concerned look that Ike quickly waved off.

“We shouldn’t leave those bodies here,” Ike said, looking at the line of dead bandits on the side of the road. “Since we have the time, we should at least give them a proper burial.”

“Ike, they’re _bandits_ ,” Soren said.

“I know. But they’re still people.”

Soren sighed, but he twirled a hand and got Rhys to follow him to the dead bodies. Ike grimaced.

The rain came in a steady drizzle at first. Low-hanging stratus clouds dragged mist across the field, shrouding the nearby village rooftops within a quarter hour. Ike paced, checking on everyone and ensuring their safety, and unhitched the donkeys from their burdensome cart. The animals snorted at him and then wandered into the field.

 _Someone will round them up and find a use for them, I’m sure,_ Ike thought. A few lanterns in the village were lit, though no one had come by to ask about the commotion someone surely must have heard by now. Ike shrugged. _The less people I have to talk to, the better._

He lingered along the side of the cart, checking that the crates were still secured, and was about to leave for shelter on the hillside when he heard something.

A voice so small and broken that for an instant it sounded like the creak of the cart wheels.

One word:

“Please…”

As Ike turned around, wide-eyed, the Holy Guard landed their pegasi in a clamor of hoofbeats and whinnies, the sounds of clanking armor and rustling wings drowning out any chance at hearing that voice again. Ike stepped back before he could get buffeted by the array of feathers.

The Holy Pegasus Knights were unified in armor, but their mounts resembled Mainal Cathedral’s stained glass windows when gathered in a herd. Most were thin-legged palfreys and coursers, built for speed, but their coats ranged from dun to bay, jet-black to dapple gray, and their wings borrowed from every kind of bird known to Tellius. The drizzling rain only made their fine coats glisten like glass.

Tanith’s blue roan was easy to spot—hers and the gold palomino that belonged to Commander Sigrun. The two women nodded politely at Ike as they approached.

“Well done,” said Sigrun. Even in the rain, her seafoam hair and soft voice were like the gentlest beach on a calm day. “The Apostle will be most pleased to hear of your success. Would you like an escort back to Sienne?”

“No thanks,” Ike said. “It’s just a half hour’s ride back from here. We’ll be soggy either way; don’t bother wasting your flock’s time with us.”

“Very well. You shall receive payment no later than tomorrow morning.”

Sigrun and Tanith began to walk away to the cart, but Ike stopped them. Sigrun raised her delicate brow.

“Hang on,” Ike said. “Those crates were being ferried by a gang of poachers, not your typical bandits. They’re rather heavy, too. What’s in them?”

“That—” Sigrun started.

“Your job was to secure the cargo,” Tanith said sternly. “You’ve no need to know further.”

Ike’s hand twitched. He pressed his thumb against the linen Soren had wrapped around his knuckles.

“But—”

“I insist you drop the matter. You were hired to carry out a job. Your work is complete.” Tanith’s brown eyes were dark as flint as she stared him down. “Princess Elincia is expecting word of your return. I suggest you inform her of your success.”

“I…sure,” Ike said, but his words fell on deaf ears as the two pegasus knights signaled their flock and surrounded the cart, blocking it from view.

Ike rounded up his company and mounted the horse he’d borrowed from the Mainal Cathedral stables. Riding was hardly his first choice of transport, but the animal seemed well-behaved, and it settled into an easy gait next to Titania’s destrier as they rode back to the temple.

But as the rain picked up speed, Ike’s thoughts wandered back to that cart on the road. He thought—he was _certain_ —

There were people in those crates.

Rain ran down his brow and plastered his hair against his forehead as he rode, silent, back to the uneasy bluestone walls of Sienne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weeeeeellllll im gonna take my horse to the old town road im gonna, fiiiight til i cant no more (got the laguz in the back, horseback ride attack, cloak is matte black and the mood is black to match,)
> 
> thank u for reading, ive been too mentally "aaaaaa" to reply to comments but i read and appreciate them <3


	57. Chapter 57

The rain had let up sometime in the early morning when Mist was still asleep. Latent saturation made the streets of Sienne glisten in the noonday sun like jewels. Each main street had its own pattern of stone setts that formed intricate designs: some fanned in regular scallop-shell curves, some alternated like herringbones, and some were laid horizontal in widths that gradated big to small to big again like rolling hills. Mist breathed in the scent of wet stone and bakery bread and sighed.

“That had better be a happy sigh,” said Titania, walking along beside her.

“It was,” Mist said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You look so tense is all. Why, for a moment there, you shared your brother’s resting serious face.”

“What!” Mist exclaimed. “No!”

Titania laughed warmly and brought Mist in for a side hug. Mist breathed in Titania’s familiar horse-and-leather scent before she slipped out from under her arm.

“I’m only teasing,” Titania said. “Ike has only had that resting expression for a few months, anyhow.”

_Since Father died and he had to keep our family together,_ Mist thought. _He wears a frown these days more often than he used to. I miss his smile…_

“I thought that once we got Princess Elincia here, he would relax,” Mist said quietly, stepping up onto a raised line of stones to walk one foot in front of the other. “But brother is just as stressed as he was when we left Crimea. It’s like he keeps seeing people who would want to hurt us instead of ordinary, boring beorc.”

“The gala tonight might be good for him, then,” Titania said. “I know highborn customs are hardly his cup of tea, but he’ll have Soren there, as well as the Princess for company. In my experience, there’s nothing a bit of good food and music can’t fix.”

“I know, I know…I still wish I could go, too. I’ve never been to a fancy gala before. I might never get the chance again!”

“I think it’s better if we let Ike and Soren go alone,” Titania said. “Those two have been working themselves sick ever since Greil passed. They owe it to themselves to take a bit of time off and try to relax.”

She helped Mist hop off the stone line once it ended at an intersection and guided her across the street. Mist trailed her hand underneath a windowbox boasting beautiful daylilies still slick with dew underneath their petals.

“ _You_ need a bit of time off, too,” Titania added. “You do so much for all of us.”

“I guess,” Mist said. “I still have to ask around for any clothes that need mending when we get back. Oh, and then there’s herb studies with Rhys, self-defense with Mia, visiting Ember in the stables—”

“Mist. It’s one thing to be considerate of others—it’s another to let that selflessness take over your own life. You’re always putting others’ needs before your own…but I suppose you’re like Elena in that regard.”

Mist looked up at Titania’s warm smile. One hand slipped into her pocket and brushed the medallion she kept there. Hearing her mother’s name so casually, so perfectly, it made Mist’s heart leap in her chest.

“My mother?” Mist asked. “I’m like her?”

“Yes, you two are quite similar,” Titania said, “though your brother is the one who inherited her hair color. Elena was always so kind and generous to everyone she met—even those she’d never seen before, laguz who visited the house asking for help with some odd chore or another.”

_That’s right—we used to live in Gallia,_ Mist recalled. She rubbed her forehead, trying to remember something, _anything_ related to what their old house looked like, her earliest memories spent running through a yard flush with grass and towering old cottonwoods, but it was like fog permeated the edges of her memory. No matter how hard she tried, all she could recollect was the melody her mother sang to put her and Ike to sleep.

That, and a simple, beating heartache that even a father’s love couldn’t replace.

“But, Mist, you’re still young,” Titania said. She cleared her throat. “You and Ike, you’re only teenagers. To lose both parents before you’re twenty, to be forced to take on the responsibilities of adulthood, I…”

Titania trailed off, taking a stabilizing breath before she continued.

“I worry about you,” she admitted. “I worry about you and Ike and Soren as if you were my own children. I realize I tend to be overprotective, but it comes from a place of fierce, fierce love for you all. I cannot shield you from the world’s cruelty. But I can try to lessen its blow however I can.”

Mist cut her off with a hug so sudden and forceful that Titania had to step backward against a passing cart to keep her balance. Mist buried her face against Titania’s collarbone, praying the woman couldn’t feel the tears dripping down her cheeks. Titania hugged her back fiercely.

“Titania, I love you so much,” Mist said when they finally broke apart. “I…thanks for taking me out in the city today.”

“It’s my pleasure,” said Titania, wiping away her own tear from the corner of her eye. “Tell you what, why don’t we pick something out for Princess Elincia as a present? I’m sure she would appreciate it.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Titania! Hmm…” Mist propped one hand on her chin and squinted down the line of storefronts. Sunlight reflected off the wide glass windows and almost blinded her if she stared too long. “Would she like a pin? Something she can wear to remind her that we’re with her in spirit, even if we aren’t allowed in the super-secret meetings?”

Titania chuckled. “I think that sounds lovely, Mist,” she said. “I’ll follow your lead.”

The broad streets of Begnion’s capital were not as densely packed as Mist had feared—but there was still a fair amount of people hurrying from one side of the city to the other, riding in horse-drawn carriages pulled by mounts untrained in combat. Mist caught herself looking for the now familiar sight of feline ears jutting out from the side of someone’s head, or the gentle swish of a tail in her peripheral vision, but there was not a laguz in sight.

At one point, Mist stopped outside a dress shop, eyes wide and hands splayed on the glass to take in a gorgeous pale orange dress hanging in the window. Its hem fell just past the knee, tapered at the waist in the sheath style that was so common here in Begnion. Tiny lines of silver thread traced the neckline like ripples emanating from a pond.

“That is a beautiful find!” Titania said. “Why don’t you go inside and try it on?”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Mist said, forcing herself to step away. “I saw the price tag—it’s far too much to spend on myself.”

“Mist…”

“We have a mission, anyhow!” Mist said, brightening her voice even if the sight of her own reflection in that dress made her giddy. “We need to find Princess Elincia the perfect token! I’m sure I saw a jeweler on that side of the street…”

A bright windchime hanging on the inside of the shop door heralded Mist and Titania’s arrival as they entered. The jeweler’s store was narrow, extending past a counter on one wall and freestanding shelves of strung beads to a dimly lit storage area in the back. One other customer was surveying the glass-topped counter, stroking his white mustache and peering closely at two identical rubies.

But the first thing that caught Mist’s eye was neither gem nor glittering bead.

A laguz man, untransformed, was lifting boxes onto a higher shelf towards the rear. He was sturdy for a raven, with dark feathery trim along his jawline and hair pulled back in a neat bun, but his wings were folded in tightly against his back and clamped with two silver rings at the wrist joint. Mist’s gaze lingered on them.

They almost looked like shackles.

“Good day to you!” said the shopkeep, a beorc woman with rosy cheeks. “Welcome to the Gilded Palfrey! May I help you find anything?”

“We’re looking for a gift for a friend of ours,” Titania said. “She’s eighteen and…Mist, what colors does Elincia like?”

“Oh, ah, gold and green,” Mist said distractedly, finally tearing her eyes from the raven laguz’s wings. He set down another heavy box on the shelf.

Titania peered past Mist and finally noticed the man. Her face immediately hardened.

“Just pretend it isn’t here,” murmured the shopkeep, taking out a tray from under the glass-topped counter. “What the Apostle doesn’t know can’t hurt her, after all. Besides, it’s _supposed_ to be stocking the _back room_ ,” she added, raising her voice pointedly in the laguz man’s direction without directly looking at him.

The raven man said nothing. He stiffly maneuvered around a freestanding shelf and was out of sight before Mist could even ask his name.

“What is a raven laguz doing all the way in Sienne?” Titania asked. “I thought they only like the Laguz Strait and the islands around Kilvas and Phoenicis.”

“Why does anyone care what a sub-human does? Here, I’ve just gotten these imported from the Tanas duchy. The stones are mined from the Grann Desert, you know.”

“You’re dodging the question,” Titania said. “Is he an employee?”

The woman almost laughed. “No, dear, it’s a sub-human,” she said.

“Do you pay him for his help?”

“Why would I pay it?”

“…Because he’s working for you?”

“Work…?”

The other customer leaned in over the counter and made no show of hiding his lips or his tone.

“They’re from Crimea,” he muttered. The woman’s face sobered almost pityingly.

“Ah, well… that certainly explains it,” she said quietly before plastering on a fake smile. “My dears, you’ve traveled far to be in our fair city, so please pay our customs no second thought—”

“Your _customs?_ ”

Titania frowned in disgust. Mist saw her hand twitch towards her hip and was silently grateful they’d been forced to leave their weapons back in the temple.

“Titania, we can tell the Apostle when we’re back,” Mist whispered, taking Titania’s wrist in her hand.

“We most certainly will,” Titania growled. “Come on, Mist.”

Mist tilted her chin up and gave the shopkeep and her customer as snooty of a _hmph!_ as she could manage on her way out the door.

Yet despite the splendor of Sienne’s markets, despite finding the perfect pinewood brooch for Elincia and sharing lettuce wraps with Titania for lunch, despite thinking about that gorgeous orange dress, one image kept forcing its way unbidden behind her eyes.

The vacant, hollow stare of the raven laguz stocking those shelves followed Mist all the way back to Mainal Cathedral.

***

Elincia peered at the ivory pieces on her side of the checkered board. Her pawn was in prime position to take the rival knight…but then there was her rook, two steps away from cornering the ebony bishop, provided she kept to the white squares…

Decisions, decisions.

“Make your move,” Soren said.

“I am thinking!” she insisted.

“You’ve been ‘thinking’ for two minutes. Chess is a slow game, but do try to hurry it up. I’d love to finish this match within the next day.”

“Soren, be nice,” Ike said from the window. He grunted as he managed to finally get the old iron frame open and let in a fresh breeze.

Soren rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms and quirking a single brow at Elincia. Elincia tried not to let it get to her. The art of chess was a precise one, not to be rushed in blind certainty.

_What would Lucia do?_ she thought, still agonizing between the pawn and rook. _She was always the more logical of the siblings…Geoffrey would have taken the first risk he had access to and either squandered the match or somehow won in a three-turn gambit._

Now that Ike had gotten the window open, the room felt much less stuffy than it had twenty minutes ago. Elincia sighed. Her quarters were far too many for a single person. Her bedroom boasted a queen-sized bed fit for, well, a future queen, set in polished wood and threaded silver inlay. Connected through the remaining wing was an elegant bathroom with a clawfoot tub, a private study, intimate dining room, and the sitting room where Elincia, Ike, and Soren were currently enjoying a respite from the temple’s goings-on. They had three hours before the gala at Duke Persis’s estate—ample time to relax and, in Elincia’s case, try to coax her two friends into seeing a gala as a _fun_ thing and not tantamount to torture.

Elincia pursed her lips and finally picked her pawn. She gently tapped Soren’s ebony knight and let him remove the piece.

“How was your meeting with Apostle Sanaki this morning?” she asked Ike.

“Frustrating,” Ike said, returning to the chair he’d dragged between Soren and Elincia on one side of the chess board.

“Par for the course by now, I would assume…?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it any better. All she did was thank us for our ‘swift acquisition’ of that mystery cargo and have Sephiran hand over payment. No answers about those crates. No answers about anything.”

Elincia picked at the skin on the back of one hand while Soren took out another ivory pawn. Ike had been close to furious when he’d finally met with her after dinner last night—agitated and restless, pacing the length of the sitting room, convinced that the poachers he and the mercenaries dealt with were smuggling people instead of pelts.

Elincia shivered. The implications…it made her stomach turn.

“If they… if they were beorc after all,” she said carefully, “what do you suppose the Apostle intends to do with them? Perhaps she knew they were being transferred and sent you to intercept and free them? Discreetly, of course.”

“That’s the thing—we have no confirmation that they _were_ beorc,” Ike said. His fingertips drummed against the armrest, tapping out a two-beat rhythm that synced to Elincia’s own heartbeat. “I don’t even want to say it because the idea is just so vile, but if those poachers were moving _laguz_ …”

“Then perhaps the Apostle is playing a larger game than we anticipate,” Soren said.

He knocked down Elincia’s second knight. She withdrew it from the board and studied her rapidly-dwindling choices.

“Soren, what do you mean?” Ike asked.

“All I have are theories right now. It depends if she hires us for another job. But Begnion has an intimate history of laguz persecution and slavery. I was going to take the day and investigate—I have the librarian’s key, after all—but the entire building is closed for repairs.” He scowled, taking another ivory piece off the board. “Even the book I wanted to review for…research, it was checked out when we returned yesterday, and now I’m forced to wait until the staircase is fixed.”

“I’m all for you following your curiosity,” Ike said, “but I also don’t want you falling off a broken staircase in its pursuit. It’ll be okay, Soren.”

“What were you looking for?” Elincia asked. “I might have a related text here—these chambers are reserved for visiting dignitaries; they might contain a selection of broad topics in the study.”

“I doubt you’d have anything about laguz behavior and spirit charmers?”

“Ah, that… no, I don’t believe I saw any titles related to that,” Elincia said.

“Pity,” Soren said, taking Elincia’s last bishop. She was down to eight pieces. Her king was starting to look defenseless.

“May I ask why you’re looking for such subjects?”

“Nasir mentioned something to me on the ship, when we were grounded at Goldoa,” Soren said, voice subconsciously lowering into more of a mutter than a confident explanation. “That laguz…hate spirit charmers. We encountered two tigers yesterday who were behaving oddly, according to Mordecai—they did not respond to speech and moved like wild animals, fueled only to kill. Like hunting dogs under the whistle of their master. One…singled me out and could have killed me. I assume it recognized my marking as a spirit charmer and succumbed to internal hatred.”

Ike gently moved a hand to Soren’s shoulder and left it there. Elincia lowered her gaze.

“I am sorry,” she said.

“Why? It’s not your fault.”

“I only wish there was more I could do. Perhaps if I spoke to the temple staff…”

“The only thing that accelerates repairs is hard labor,” Soren said, moving the ebony bishop. Elincia gasped—he took her queen, foolishly left unattended on the perimeter. “I’ll simply have to wait.”

“In the meantime, we have a fancy party to go to,” Ike said, voice grave with dread. “I can’t wait to stand around pretending to drink wine and act as if every wealthy person here is immaculate.”

“Please tell me we aren’t required to wear suits,” Soren said.

“Are you not a fan?” Elincia said. “I think you and Ike would look quite dashing.”

“They’re too constricting. I wear robes and leggings because I like the way I feel in them.”

“Fair enough,” Elincia said, giving him a bright smile which he did not return. “I’m more than certain the tailors here will accommodate your request.”

Soren grunted. Ike rubbed his shoulder reassuringly.

“Don’t worry, Soren,” he said, “if anyone tries to make you wear something you aren’t comfortable with, I’ll… I don’t know, Elincia, what can I do here that won’t put you or me out of the Apostle’s good graces?”

“Give them a harsh glance and abstain from further conversation?”

Ike laughed. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Soren rolled his red eyes and refocused on the game. Without her queen, Elincia’s pieces fell methodically to each of Soren’s ruthless moves. As if adding insult to injury, he left her king as the only ivory piece on the board, forcing her to surrender.

“My goodness!” she exclaimed. “That was quite the show!”

“Mm,” Soren hummed. Already he was scanning the pieces, recreating the positions in his head. He twirled the ebony bishop in his fingers.

Elincia glanced at the timepiece above the doorframe.

“You’d best return to your quarters,” she said. “Much as I enjoy your company, we have a social event to attend.”

“What? The gala isn’t for another three hours,” Ike said.

“Exactly. There’s all manner of preparations to be made: fittings, bathing, hair, perfumes, arriving neither too early nor too late…”

“Is it too late to opt out?” Soren said flatly.

“Not without offending the Apostle or Sephiran, I’m afraid,” said Elincia.

“Didn’t _you_ tell me this was a good opportunity?” Ike said, tilting his head at Soren to give him a playful look. “Something about studying the upper classes with dignity? Wait, no, it was digni _taries_ , yeah?”

Soren sighed theatrically and leaned his head back towards the ceiling.

“You’re right,” he said, “leaving you alone with a pack of egg-headed socialites will only end poorly. The least I can do as our company tactician is prevent you from making a grievous error via social interaction with nobles.”

“That’s the spirit,” Ike said.

Elincia smiled behind her hand. _They truly know each other well,_ she thought with a small pang of jealousy. _Oh, Lucia, Geoffrey, would that I could weather this storm in your company…_

“An excellent game, Soren,” she said, standing and offering her hand. Soren looked at it like it was a dead fish before Ike nudged him into shaking it. “We ought to schedule a rematch! I shall brush up on my chess knowledge before then!”

“Great,” Soren said.

Elincia escorted the two boys to the hallway, bidding them farewell even though Ike’s rooms were adjacent to hers and Soren’s were just down at the corner. Elincia shut the door to her quarters and shook out her hands to dispel the nervous jitters. She’d been to countless formal dinners and gatherings at the villa back home. Why should this be any different?

_I’m simply managing myself, my country’s affairs, my social standing with the ruler of Begnion and her advisors,_ and _trusting my rescuer and his best friend not to fall victim to vexation,_ she thought. _What could possibly go wrong?_

She worried a twist of her emerald hair around a finger, hoping the Goddess Ashera was not one to read thoughts and invoke petty irony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 2020 let folks wear whatever they want, clothes have no gender, also trans rights
> 
> phew ok nanowrimo is basically over-- the remaining 4-5k i have left for the month im gonna just write down scenes i wanna get to later, so this will be the last full chapter update during this crazy month. thank you all for tagging along
> 
> without further ado, i.imgur.com/YABgXzP.png


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which everyone who's played radiant dawn is about to lose their shit

Ike tugged at the crimson ribbon around his wrist and wondered for the fifth time that hour what in Tellius he was doing here.

Even with the cathedral’s tailors, he felt claustrophobic in his long jacket and doublet, both embroidered with silver and gold thread like he was some kind of jewelry out for display. He’d folded his headband into a square tucked neatly in the front jacket pocket, but that was all the tailors would let him bring of his usual ensemble, swapping everything he’d grown used to for stiff fabrics and impractical accoutrements. Navy blue and deep sea green, slacks the color of a shoreline—Ike grimaced at his own reflection.

 _I look like I belong back on Nasir’s boat,_ he thought, picking again at his doublet collar. How this was supposed to keep him cool on a late summer evening, he had no idea.

He sighed, tugged on his fluffy blue hair, and left his quarters before he decided to strap on his sword after all. He’d wanted to bring it, but Elincia insisted it was against the rules—not that rules would stop someone from attacking when they least expected it, but Ike resigned himself to leaving it behind. Not having the familiar weight on his hip felt awkward, altering his step like a packhorse freed from its saddlebags. Ike found his hand resting against where his pommel normally fell on instinct as he waited in the hallway for Soren and Elincia.

 _This is going to be so ridiculous,_ he thought. A pair of acolytes passed him in the cathedral’s characteristic robes, bowing politely and hiding smiles behind their hands. Ike frowned. _Elincia said we needed to take a carriage—a blasted_ carriage _, when Duke Sephiran’s estate is three blocks down the road! It’s more than walkable._

He flexed his toes in his stiff leather dress shoes and winced.

_Alright, well, walkable in proper shoes…_

Measured footsteps rounded the corner by Ike’s suite. He looked up, expecting from the gait to see Soren—

—but not _this_ Soren.

His friend had had his way with the tailors; a long charcoal sheath dress fell from shoulder to calf, bordered with gold and tied at the waist with a braided leather belt run through with silver ribbons. He’d clasped a linen cloak about his slim shoulders the color of dawn behind stormclouds, black hair drawn back into a braid save for the wisps around his forehead mark and ears. Someone had even threaded polished pyrope garnets around his collarbone that matched his eyes right down to the blood-red hue.

He was, short of any other word, beautiful.

Ike was someone short on words in a good situation, but his throat was dry as winter, his mind blank as fresh snow. Soren looked at him curiously and tilted his head, silky bangs brushing his cheeks.

“I, uhm…” Ike said quietly, “you look good.”

Soren snorted around a half-smile. “I’m surprised those tailors bothered listening to my requests.”

“You can be very persuasive, you know.”

“True. That, or they saw me writing fire sigils on spare pieces of paper and thought they’d best hold their tongues.”

“Soren!” Ike exclaimed, grinning despite himself. “No setting the cathedral on fire! Come off it, you’re not _actually_ bringing spells with you, right?”

Soren shrugged. “It never hurts to be prepared. I cannot discreetly carry a bonded spellbook with me, but I’ve slipped backups into my cloak here. Parties are the most common circumstance for underhanded poisonings and stealth murders, you know.”

“I know _now_ ,” Ike said, blanching.

Soren snorted, lips quirking in a shy smile that had Ike lost for words once again.

“Is something wrong?” Soren asked him.

“What?”

“You look lost in thought. Is the prospect of a social event _that_ terrible to you?”

 _Not if you’re there,_ Ike thought, blinking at the frankness of his own brain.

He ran a hand behind his head, trying to think of something, anything to say in reply, when a second set of lighter steps came hurrying round the bend.

“Hello, you two!” said a bright voice.

Ike stepped back, pulse racing, as Elincia joined them in her eveningwear. She’d found a lovely peach-colored dress that flared in rows from the waist, paired with a rust-brown suit-jacket that fit snugly around her chest. At its collar she’d fixed an emerald and wood pin that matched her hair, which she’d pulled half up and away from her neck so the waves could cascade down her other shoulder. Copper earrings styled like Crimea’s crest dangled from her ears.

Elincia smiled at Ike and Soren and then clasped her hands together. “Are we prepared?” she asked.

“No,” Soren said dryly.

“Yes,” Ike said, shooting Soren a look. “At least, as well as we can be without cancelling altogether.”

“Oh, you will be just fine,” Elincia said, beckoning the two to follow her down the hall towards the front of the guest wing. The windows along the outer wall were dark; Sienne’s candlelit streetlamps glittered like stars through the glass, but the inner courtyards protected by Mainal’s walls looked like stretches of ink. Even the statue of Ashera loomed like a dark portent against the blackening sky.

Elincia continued, “When in doubt, listen louder than you speak. One of my most vociferous court retainers, Count Bastian, why, he knew the fine art of empty space. For all his recitations, he knew to let others fill the gaps in his speeches, for sometimes the information one seeks is only waiting for a pause of breath. As he says, there is nothing a noble loves to do more than talk about themselves.”

“That’s certainly true,” Soren mumbled. Ike elbowed him gently in the shoulder.

Elincia didn’t notice; she’d started down the wide stone stairwell, skirts bundled in one hand to keep from tripping. When they all convened at the bottom, an escort from the cathedral was waiting to bring them outside to a carriage. Ike scanned the grounds, looking for the telltale signs of Sanaki, but nothing was there to greet him save for temple acolytes and guards stationed to keep Sienne’s rabble out. One of the escorts opened the carriage door for Elincia and waited expectantly for Ike and Soren to follow.

“Isn’t the Empress coming?” Ike asked.

“She is taking her own transportation,” said the servant. Behind them, a flutter of wings erupted over the cathedral spire, and two pegasi took off from the stableyard.

“Show-off,” Soren muttered.

“It is the Empress’s will,” said the servant. They continued to hold the door open until Ike and Soren joined Elincia inside, then shut it politely with a _click_.

Ike flinched when the carriage started to rumble away. Elincia put a sympathetic hand on his knee, but retracted the touch after a few seconds rather than let it linger.

“You’ve faced many a threat in my name and in the name of your company,” she told him. Passing light from the streetlamps swept over her face. “I am certain you will make a stellar impression upon these nobles.”

“We’d better,” Soren said, looking out the carriage window. “We’re nothing more than beggars to them. If we squander our chance at a good impression, not only does the Princess here lose her shot at foreign aid to take back Crimea, but we lose any money from potential employment. Considering that Marcia’s dunce of a brother is our responsibility now, we could use as much funding as we can get.”

“Oh, Soren, you don’t mean that,” Elincia said.

“I mean every word. The man’s debts rack higher than any I’ve seen. If collectors start hounding _us_ , we’ll be in trouble.”

“Let’s worry about that later,” Ike said. He reached for Soren’s shoulder and gently put his hand there, tugging on the linen cloak until his friend turned away from the window. “I think we’re getting close…”

Duke Persis’s estate was hewn from the same blue-gray granite as Mainal Cathedral, carved and stacked into a tiered pair of square structures that flanked a wide inner garden. Ike followed mutely in Elincia’s footsteps, letting himself be steered with Soren into a spacious foyer and a grand glass-lined hall beyond. Clinking glasses and twittering conversation assaulted Ike’s ears as soon as they entered. Thick perfumes that mingled into a miasmic cloud clogged the air and made Soren gag. Elincia seemed unaffected, though Ike caught the princess’s eyebrows twitch like she was forcing a pleasant face when the party atmosphere first hit her, too.

“Ah, Princess Elincia!” rang a youthful voice from the crowd of fine-liveried folk.

 _Oh, great,_ thought Ike, hoping his face didn’t show the grimace he knew was threatening to spread, as the Empress of Begnion approached with two men flanking her as her entourage.

Elincia fell to a deep curtsy. Ike bowed stiffly from the waist; peeking through his bangs he saw Soren do the same. Sanaki held her hand out for Elincia to kiss and waited for the girl to rise before she continued ferrying introductions. Behind her was Sephiran—Duke Persis—with his long hair tied loosely to one side and his almond eyes weighted with either boredom or lethargy. He’d swapped his audience robes for a long cream-and-violet number over dark leggings; when his wrist flicked, a bracelet of teal metal danced around his wristbone.

At Sanaki’s other side was someone Ike didn’t recognize. Sanaki’s eyes crinkled with amusement as she raised her hand back to introduce him.

“Ike, may I introduce you to my finest general,” Sanaki said. “This is General Zelgius. He has just returned from a survey of our coastline after that egregious attack by those pirates.”

Ike nodded at the general, who returned the gesture with a pleasant smile. Zelgius was a broad-shouldered man with easily half a foot’s height on Ike; dark raven-blue hair fanned back from his pale face into a short cropped cut around the back of his head, and he had a capelet of dark silk fastened at the hollow of his throat. His doublet was lined with thick leather padding, almost as if the man was constantly expecting danger.

Ike’s brow twitched. Zelgius held up a patient hand.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, “and rest assured, the estate is well-guarded. No one is allowed to carry weapons inside the grounds.”

“Then why wear leathers?” Ike asked.

“I’m afraid it’s difficult for me to shake combat habits even at a tame event such as this.”

“Try as he might,” Sephiran said, shooting the general a pained smile. Zelgius waved him off.

“I would love to meet with you sometime, Ike,” Zelgius continued. “Sanaki has told me much of your skill and that of your mercenary company. It would be wonderful to speak and share stories of challenges past.”

“Sure,” Ike said. Soren surreptitiously stepped on his toe. “I mean—that would be great, General. I appreciate it.”

Zelgius stifled a smile and turned his attention to Elincia, kissing her hand like a gentleman and asking her about her home. As soon as he was looking away, Ike shot Soren a sour look, but the other boy was busy swirling a wine glass by the stem like he’d done nothing wrong. Ike raised his brow at the glass.

“Just being polite,” Soren whispered.

“Well, then I’m going to be rude,” Ike said. “Wine tastes awful. I don’t know how anyone stomachs it.”

“As long as that is your only infraction, by all means,” Soren said smoothly. He raised his glass to Ike and then took a sip, nose crinkling at the alcohol.

Ike chuckled. He took a canapé off a tray held up by an iron-wrought shorebird and snacked on it until the conversation moved on.

The evening wore on as comfortably as an ill-fitting shoe. The first half hour was fine, but then, as more and more people swept in to talk to Elincia and her guests, as more nobles fawned with fake attention and offered favors, Ike felt the atmosphere forming blisters on his skin. He scanned the hall—Soren was standing among a group of scholarly-looking folk with matching monocles, likely listening in on a talk about magical theory—and Elincia was with Sanaki, laughing together over some in-joke a female friend was telling.

 _They’re doing just fine,_ Ike thought, _but if I stay here any longer I feel like I’m going to snap someone’s head off on accident just to keep them from spreading more perfume._

Ike sidled his way around the perimeter, mumbling apologies to people whose elbows he bumped along the way, until he found a glass door leading out into the garden.

The contrast hit him like cold water from sleep. Golden light from the hall spilled onto the grass, but after that the garden was a sea of gentle hedges and starlit statues. Ike let his feet guide him along the winding breccia path. Rustling marsh grasses whispered in the wind; heather and lavender scented the air; trailing wisps from a towering willow tree drifted over Ike’s head as he passed underneath them. The air was cooler, but still carried latent humidity—Ike breathed easily, relaxing now that the perfume from inside was gone. An ebony dragon statue with its wings furled marked one corner of the path, its tail leading Ike down the next way.

The footpath emptied to a circle in the garden’s center, where a curved pond babbled as it was fed by a small fountain. Tiny fish glimmered in the water.

But that wasn’t what took Ike’s attention.

Standing guard with her arms raised to the heavens was a woman with long hair carved from veined marble. In each hand she brandished a greatsword as tall as her torso—each painstakingly molded from native metal leaf, one gold, one silver, both raised as if the fighter herself was challenging the heavens to a duel. Her face was hard to see in the night, but Ike felt himself staring at her, some undeniable tug inside him keeping his body rooted in place. Someone had even left fresh-cut roses at her feet.

“Pleasant night for a stroll, is it not?”

Ike turned; General Zelgius was approaching from a different path, sidestepping the pond until he stood a respectful distance from both Ike and the statue.

“General…Zelgius, was it?” Ike asked.

“Correct,” Zelgius said, “though, we can drop the formality—I think it would tire us both to constantly refer to one another with wordy titles when a simple first name will suffice. Especially when we’re so far from the party. Don’t worry—I promise not to report you to the Apostle for a crude tongue.”

“That’s a relief,” Ike said dryly, “because I’m certain I have a hundred offenses on that already.”

Zelgius laughed genially. His voice, while not particularly deep or stony, carried a hearty weight to it.

“You have quite a bit of spunk,” Zelgius said. “Empress Sanaki has taken a liking to you.”

“Really? Because the last time we talked, she brushed me aside like I was some yapping dog and refused to tell me what the actual job she hired us for _was_.”

“She can be…petulant…at times,” Zelgius admitted, “but I implore you not hold it against her. She is quite young. To have the weight of a nation upon her shoulders at eleven years old…I cannot fathom the strain. So I do my best to protect her and our borders, so she may reign with as much dignity and fairness as the Empresses before her.”

He quieted then, looking up at the statue of the swordswoman. Ike followed his gaze up to the statue’s unreadable expression. Crickets bowed their stringlike serenade in the grass. From the party, someone laughed gaily and clinked glasses with a large group.

“She’s quite something, isn’t she,” Zelgius said.

“Who is she?”

“Altina—one of Ashera’s three great heroes and Begnion’s founder.” Zelgius leaned his head back and studied the statue fondly. “She was the beorc chosen by the Goddess to fight against the dark god of chaos and seal her away, saving Tellius along with the great dragon and lion laguz heroes. Do you not know the legend?”

“I can’t say I do,” Ike said. “I’m not one for theology. Father didn’t teach my sister or me much aside from local knowledge.”

Zelgius rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Would you mind if I shared it, then?”

Ike waved him to continue. Zelgius sighed, looking back at the statue with an almost wistful expression.

“Long ago, a terrible dark god sought to drown the world and all its creations. It summoned a tide that flooded all other continents—but the Goddess Ashera shielded Tellius from the dark god’s wrath. In the face of chaos, She sought order, but the dark god was too much for Her to banish on her own. To assist Her, Ashera blessed three souls: the mightiest fighters She could find across Tellius whose courage rivaled the chaos of the dark god. The beorc Altina wielded two holy greatswords: the silver blade, Alondite, and its golden twin, Ragnell. These swords are too heavy for the average man to lift, let alone lift _two_ , but the swords attuned to Altina’s heart and became light as rapiers in her hands.”

Ike’s ears buzzed.

_Ragnell._

The sword left behind in that clearing in Gallia, the sword Ike took with nothing more than a hunch and a hope, the sword that dragged him back to that stormy night with a single touch and a word whispered in the back of his mind—

 _That_ Ragnell.

“Is something the matter?” Zelgius asked.

“Nothing,” Ike said a bit too hurriedly. “I just…I met someone who carried that blade.”

“Really?”

“Yes. That one, there—” Ike pointed at the silver sword in Altina’s right hand. “Alondite. I…my father was murdered by a man who wielded that sword. I don’t know how he came to possess it, or who he is, but he wore black armor from head to toe and carried Alondite like it was a feather. I’ve reason to believe he works for King Ashnard of Daein. He killed Father. He almost killed me, too.”

Ike’s voice stumbled—he took a breath and hoped the general hadn’t heard the break. He shook his head so his bangs flopped over his forehead.

“He left me with a scar and a broken sword wrist,” he said, “but, more than that, he left me with this fire inside. Once I help Princess Elincia secure her throne and fulfill my Father’s oath to her, I am going to find the Black Knight and I am going to make him regret taking Father from me and Mist and my whole family.”

Zelgius was quiet. He looked up at the statue of Altina, eyes roaming over her twin blades.

“…I see,” he said, more to the statue than to Ike. “This…injury. Has it hampered your swordfighting ability in any way?”

Ike paused. A little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Soren told him that maybe, just _maybe_ , telling your personal fighting ability to a nation’s general might not be the best idea.

“No, it hasn’t,” he said firmly. “Our healer did the best he could with his light magic, and I’ve been training constantly since the… since the incident. If anything, I’ve gotten stronger.”

“That’s good,” said Zelgius. He nodded to himself. “That’s very good.”

He shifted from one leg to the other, shaking out one foot as if it had fallen asleep.

“Well, there is not much to the legend after that. Altina, riding the back of the green lion Soan and with Ragnell and Alondite in her hands, smote the chaos god and sealed it away. It has slumbered for almost eight hundred years, and order has reigned on Tellius ever since.”

Ike was quiet for a long, long time.

 _Ragnell,_ he thought again, thinking back to that cloth-wrapped sword among his scant belongings back at Mainal Cathedral. _The sword of a hero—a hero of_ Begnion _, no less. What in the world was it doing in Gallia? At Father’s death site?_

“You seem troubled,” said Zelgius. “I apologize if the legend was distressing to you.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Ike said. “I was just thinking about my father.”

“Ah. Greil, was it? My sincerest apologies. I heard his fate from Sanaki when she alerted us you were coming. He sounded like a great man.”

“He taught me everything I know about swordsmanship,” Ike said. He rotated his wrist subconsciously, feeling the mended muscles. “I looked up to him. Now that he’s gone, it’s up to me to care for my sister and to lead the company in his stead.”

“A heavy burden for one so young,” Zelgius said, bowing his head. “You and the Empress have more in common than you realize. Your sister… does she know your father’s technique as well?”

“Father taught her the basic grip at her insistence,” Ike admitted, “but now that she’s joining us on the field, I want her to learn properly. I’ve half a mind to teach her myself.”

“I am certain you would make a fine instructor.”

Zelgius trailed off, looking back towards the glass-windowed party.

“Well then, Ike, I shall take my leave,” he said, inclining his head again. “I mustn’t keep Duke Persis waiting. The poor man will drink himself to melancholy if I do not stay his hand.”

 _Grim,_ Ike thought, though he kept it to himself.

“Enjoy your evening,” he said.

“Likewise.”

Zelgius left the way he’d come, through a second winding path in the garden that led to a green marble statue of a lion at rest. Ike waited until he saw Zelgius back inside before he, too, went back, brushing his fingers against the long marsh grasses that Sephiran kept in neat rows along the footpath. By the time Ike reached the building, he could see Elincia chatting easily among a group of nobles, a bright smile across her face.

 _She seems well at ease,_ Ike thought, feeling a bit of unknown tension leave his shoulders. He tried to scan the crowds for a sign of Soren without needing to go back inside, but he found that familiar head of ink-black hair on a garden bench set just off the side of the first footpath. He was backlit by the golden light through the glass, head bent down so his hair hid half his face.

“What’re you doing out here?” Ike asked, coming over.

Soren jumped in his seat, but relaxed when he saw it was just Ike. He set a small paperback on his other side.

“Reading,” he said.

“Soren, it’s nighttime. You’ll hurt your eyes if you try to read in the dark.”

Ike plopped himself down next to Soren on the rough stone bench. Soren sighed but didn’t move away.

“I can see fine from the light behind me,” Soren said.

“Where’d you get the book, anyway? I thought you couldn’t bring anything from Mainal.”

“I may or may not have borrowed it from Duke Persis’s corridor bookcase when no one was looking.”

“Soren!” Ike chided.

Soren smirked, Ike tugged on Soren’s braid.

“Just make sure to return it before we leave,” Ike said quietly.

“Of course.”

“Any idea when that might be?”

Soren craned his head around and mumbled figures under his breath. He swiveled back and adjusted his cloak.

“Judging from the Princess’s vying conversation partners and her apparent demeanor…at least another hour,” he said.

Ike groaned and slumped over so his head fell onto Soren’s shoulder. He felt Soren tense at first, but Soren let out a small huff and patted Ike on the head.

“Mainal Cathedral is three blocks away,” Soren said. “Theoretically, you or I could just walk back and leave the Princess to her party.”

“My feet hurt way too much already to try,” Ike said, wincing as he flexed his toes again. The damned dress shoes felt like they’d _shrunk_. “Besides, we should go back inside soon, in case Elincia needs backup. I don’t know how effective we’d be, but…”

“But we can afford to stay outside for another quarter hour,” Soren said. “She is a capable young adult. I heard her steer the topic from pity towards her late father to plans for Crimean-Begnion trade routes as if she’d planned the speech beforehand.”

Ike whistled appreciatively. He couldn’t see many stars from how his head was angled, but the rush of the grasses and flowers in the garden, the drape of the willow branches, the gentle rise and fall of Soren’s bony shoulder, that was plenty for him. Ike let his eyes close while Soren took his book back out. With the murmur of the party at their backs and the summer stars hanging above them, for a moment, a brief, fleeting moment…

Ike let himself lapse into peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for ur patience! updates won't be as frequent as last year, but thanks for sticking it out while i've dealt w/stress, mental health, burnout, and other work projects!
> 
> the Lore.....
> 
> you can find me on twitter/kofi/dA @ earthtonequeen if you wanna say hi


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